The Return of Harry Potter
by mstiquerose3
Summary: After running away from his abusive relatives shortly prior to his eleventh birthday, Harry Potter is feared dead by the Wizarding world until a chance meeting with a certain red-headed family changes everything. Can Harry return to the world that failed him when he needed help the most? Can he learn to overcome his traumatic past to form friendships and find a new family?
1. Chapter 1: Life on the Run

**Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. She, and she alone, owns the rights to these characters, etc.**

 **A/N: Like many here, I am a huge Harry Potter fan. After taking several years off from my Harry Potter obsession, I recently reread the books, and my time away gave me a fresh new perspective on Harry's home life with the Dursleys. As a 20-something-year-old now, I realized that many of the things that the Dursleys do in the HP books is quite frankly abusive and neglectful. While I absolutely do not condone any of their behavior in J.K. Rowling's stories or even this fanfic, this idea has been brewing in my head for several months now.**

 **I apologize if this chapter is rather wordy, but it is simply an introduction meant to minimize confusion as much as possible. More action and dialogue will be coming up in the next chapter!**

 **Chapter 1: Life on the Run**

Harry Potter was having a terrible day.

He woke up that morning feeling absolutely dreadful- far worse than he had ever felt in his nearly fourteen years. He had been sick many times before, as that was a downside to living on the streets of London without any proper clothing, footwear, food, or shelter, but he had always somehow miraculously recovered exceedingly quickly, no matter the illness or ailment. But this time, however, everything was different.

His illness was not going away. If anything, it was getting worse. It had started out as a mere cold six months ago, but without access to any type of healthcare, it had progressively deteriorated. For the last twelve weeks, Harry had woken up each day feeling extremely feverish and shaking with teeth-chattering chills. His entire body ached mercilessly from head to toe, including a tremendously sore throat and a never-ending pounding headache. His constant dry, hacking cough barely left him any air left to breathe. When he was able to breathe, it was in fast, shallow breaths, which caused his chest to wrench in pain with each gasp he was able to take. To make matters worse, he was very nauseous and had severe difficulty keeping any food or water down, causing him to become severely dehydrated and even more malnourished than his skinny frame already was. Harry worried that if he did not find a remedy soon, he may have to resort to other drastic measures…

 _No_ , he thought. _Don't think about that right now. Going to a hospital is out of the question. They will find out who I really am and send me right back to the Dursleys._ He couldn't afford that. Not after everything he had been through just to survive long enough away from the Dursleys' grasps.

Harry Potter had no parents. In fact, he didn't even know their names. Any conversation regarding his parents had been strictly limited in the Dursley household. The slightest mention of his parents always brought with it harsh punishments from his aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley, in an attempt to push out any curiosity Harry had about them, or quite frankly, _anything_. That was the number one rule in the house for Harry: Never ask questions. According to his aunt and uncle, his parents died in a terrible car accident when he was a mere one-year-old. His relatives told him that his father and mother were both lazy unemployed alcoholics and extremely neglectful parents, leading to their tragic demise and selfishly orphaning Harry in the process. However, Harry refused to think of them that way. For some reason, or perhaps it was because of his own abusive relationship with his aunt and uncle, he couldn't believe the story that his relatives had told him. His parents wouldn't have just left him all alone with those horrid relatives, would they? If only they'd known how cruelly and callously his aunt and uncle had treated him all those years… _Don't think about that right now_ , he reminded himself anxiously, pushing aside horrifying memories threatening to overwhelm him.

He clutched his ratty old jacket, which also doubled as his blanket, closer towards himself and carefully rolled over onto his side, peering out the second-floor window of the abandoned building that he was currently staying in. He wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep. In fact, that seemed to be the only thing he wanted to do nowadays since his health had taken a severe turn for the worse. He had not actually gone outside in several days, choosing to stay indoors and sleep the days away instead, so he could not truly remember the last time he had eaten or drank anything. Presently, the position of the sun outside told him that it was already late midday, which was a startling thought for Harry. Typically, he would be up and working by 6 a.m. each morning and stay out long after the sun went down, normally until midnight. But ever since he came down with that miserable cold, his energy level had diminished severely, making it extremely difficult for him to do much of anything at all. Today, he had already lost practically an entire day's worth of searching for money, food, and other vital essentials.

After recovering from another wretched coughing fit, Harry slowly and cautiously sat up. He yet again played with the idea of simply going back to sleep and waiting until tomorrow to find something to eat, but his instincts got the best of him. He felt extremely weak and tired, but he knew he had to get to work. He had to go find something to eat, even if he knew he would not be able to keep it down due to his illness. Perhaps if he was lucky, he would find some spare change along the way too.

It took him several elongated minutes, but he slowly got to his feet. Instantly, he swayed treacherously on the spot, his equilibrium precariously thrown off balance by the sudden movement. He hastily steadied himself with his hands and shook his head in an attempt to stave off the oncoming dizziness rapidly enveloping him. He took several shaky steps towards the bathroom, slowly walking along the closest wall to ensure that he didn't lose his balance again.

When he ultimately reached the sink several minutes later and turned on the faucet, he absentmindedly ignored the odd tingling sensation running up and down his right arm as he did so. As he watched the plentiful clean drinking water run out of the faucet, he was once again reminded of how lucky he'd been to discover this abandoned building. Even though the building had been abandoned for several years, it still somehow miraculously had running water. He'd almost say it was magic, but Harry knew better than that. _"There's no such thing as magic,"_ his uncle's enraged voice suddenly rang throughout his ears. Harry frowned at the ghastly reminder of his uncle's wicked voice and quickly shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts of painful memories before they completely overwhelmed him. He splashed some cool water on his face in an attempt to wipe the feverish sweat off his skin. Turning off the faucet, he dried his face with the shirt he'd been wearing and was about to leave when his reflection in the bathroom mirror unexpectedly caught his attention.

At first, he was exceedingly startled by what he saw. He hadn't actually had access to a mirror in many months, considering he'd been sleeping in empty parks or dark alleys most of the time and always steered clear of any public restrooms. Since he had arrived at his current hideout a few weeks ago, he'd barely had enough energy to walk to the bathroom, let alone look in the mirror, so he was very surprised by what he saw when he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

Staring back at him was a nearly unrecognizable thirteen-year-old teenager. No, he had never exactly been healthy growing up, considering the Dursleys never took him to a doctor when he was ill and always fed him as little food as possible, but now, the reflection in the mirror was practically screaming out for help. Underneath the significant amount of dirt, filth, and grime that he had been unable to wash off his face, his skin was so pallid and pale that it was turning a sickly and unhealthy gray. His face was extremely emaciated and gaunt, and both of his cheekbones heavily protruded from his face, making it quite obvious that he had lost a significant amount of weight, even though he had already been severely underweight and malnourished for his age prior to living on the streets. There were dark and heavy rings under his bloodshot eyes, and his lips were extremely chapped due to his lack of proper hydration. Even his hair had changed. What used to be a thick luscious black mop of messy jet black hair had now been turned into thin straw-like hair, with random patches of hair missing from where it had fallen out due to the inadequate nutrition. The only thing that Harry even recognized in the boy staring back at him was the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead, which was much redder than normal due to his pale and nearly grayish complexion.

After several minutes of staring at the mirror in disbelief, Harry shook his head in disappointment and sighed. He didn't even want to see what the rest of his body looked like, knowing that if he were to take off his shirt off and examine the rest of himself in the mirror, he would see much worse things, including horrible reminders of his past that he vastly wished to forget. He had to take better care of himself, or else he would never survive. Getting something to drink and finding food had to be his new priorities again, since resting did not seem to be helping his precarious condition any. And, he decided, once he had the strength to stay on his feet for longer than a few moments at a time, he would have to find some soap and a new change of clothes. He hadn't had a shower or changed his clothes since running away from the Dursleys. Taking a shower in public places as a runaway teen was much too dangerous, as Harry was fearful people would recognize him and turn him into the local authorities. And on the other hand, he hadn't grown much over the last few years, so he had never felt the need to switch up his current wardrobe. Life on the run meant carrying around as little as possible, so carrying around extra clean clothing was the least of his worries.

He turned the faucet on again, once more ignoring the strange tingling sensation coming from his right hand as he turned the water on (his hands frequently tingled like this for some strange reason that he couldn't explain), and he cupped his hands as he forced himself to take a drink of water. Immediately he found himself on the floor kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach as the water made him extremely nauseous and instantaneously ill. He retched violently, gasping for air in the process. He wasn't surprised, quite honestly. He had been unable to keep any food or water down for weeks now. When he was finally finished, he fell onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, taking short uneven breaths and attempting to calm his queasy stomach. His thoughts wandered back to how he wound up in this condition in the first place.

After his parents' deaths, Harry was sent to live with the only living relatives he had: his nasty and downright cruel Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, as well Dudley, their son who was the same age as Harry. For nine excruciating and tortuous years, he grew up living in his aunt and uncle's house, but they had made certain to find a way to demonstrate to Harry on a daily basis that he was most certainly not welcomed in their home.

Firstly, whenever he was not in school, he was forced to do endless hours of chores and tedious tasks for his relatives while they enjoyed their numerous leisurely activities. Since before he could even remember, he did all of the housework, cooking, cleaning, and yard work for his relatives and was not relieved from his duties until his uncle retired to bed late each night. By the time he took a shower, it would typically be midnight before he could even begin on his schoolwork, which meant he often only got three or four hours of sleep each night. Of course, Harry never tried very hard on any of his schoolwork. He had learned his lesson a long time ago that outshining Dudley in anything, no matter the subject or sport, always earned himself a ruthless punishment from his aunt and uncle for embarrassing them at the effort, and to make matters worse, he frequently endured severe bullying from Dudley and his gang for the humiliation of Harry surpassing Dudley in whichever area of life. No, from the time he got home, to the time his relatives went to bed, he labored away for his aunt, uncle, and cousin while they watched TV and played games. Harry learned at an early age that if he complained or mouthed off about anything at all, showed any sign of disrespect towards any of his relatives, or made a careless mistake while completing any of his assigned tasks, he was severely punished. Harry learned to never object to his responsibilities or his relatives' demands, no matter how unbelievable or implausible they were, in a simple effort to prevent any more harm from being directed his way. Most of the time, Harry simply kept his mouth shut and limited any conversations he had with the Dursleys in an attempt to avoid any negative repercussions.

Secondly, even though his relatives had a spare guest room only used on those rare occasions that Uncle Vernon's sister, Aunt Marge, came to stay overnight for a few days, Harry had been banished to sleeping in a small cupboard under the stairs, which was scarcely big enough to fit a small cot inside. Dust and spider webs filled nearly every nook and cranny in the small storage space, and his cousin loved jumping up and down on the staircase whenever Harry was locked up inside, causing dust to fall everywhere around him. Whenever he wasn't slaving away for his relatives, he was constantly locked inside his tiny little cupboard. He was always locked away in his cupboard whenever the Dursleys had visitors or guests, which meant Harry had never had the privilege of participating in any kind of holiday feast, celebration, birthday party, sleepover, or family dinner. To make matters worse, the only source of light in his makeshift room came from the miniscule crack under the door, making it extremely difficult to complete his homework or reading assignments in the dark.

In another display of how unwelcomed and unwanted he was in the Dursley household, he never received anything new. His cousin's old clothes were always handed down to him. While the holes and torn clothing never really bothered Harry much, his cousin was nearly four times the size of Harry, making the clothes uncomfortably large for Harry to wear. His shoes were always too big for his feet, causing him to constantly trip and fall down. He had not seen an eye doctor since he was four years old, which meant that he had to tolerate wearing broken (compliments of his family) and severely scratched glasses that were held together by several pieces of Scotch tape. His birthdays were always dramatically ignored, and since he was not allowed to participate in holiday celebrations with the Dursleys, he never received any Christmas presents.

On a lucky day at Number 4 Privet Drive, he was able to sneakily scrape the measly leftovers from his relatives' plates before doing the dishes. On an unlucky day, he would be given merely a cheese sandwich on one piece of mostly stale bread with a glass of water to fill his stomach. Needless to say, Harry hated living with his only living relatives.

School wasn't much better. Harry was teased and bullied relentlessly by Dudley and his gang before, during, and after school hours. For Harry, there was absolutely no reprieve from the Dursleys as Dudley was always enrolled in the same classes as him. In addition, he had no friends thanks to Dudley and his crew. All of the students at school ignored him or joined in on the bullying and harassment due to fear of retribution from Dudley. And there wasn't much that Harry could do to stop it either. Dudley and his parents had fooled all of the teachers and administrators into thinking that Harry was the bully and always started every altercation that involved his cousin Dudley, causing him to be found responsible for each bad thing that happened to both of them. He had even been suspended from school quite a few times because of the Dursleys' manipulation of the facts, and he always suffered the consequences for it in the worst ways imaginable.

He had tried once to tell one of his teachers the awful truth about his abusive family. One day, when he was nine-years-old, his primary school teacher had questioned him at the end of class upon seeing the black and blue bruises on his neck from where his uncle had nearly strangled him out of uncontrollable anger the previous night. Before Harry knew it, before he could even do anything to stop it, years of bottled up emotions quickly poured out, and he was suddenly rambling off all of his built up frustrations and anguish about his life with his ruthless relatives.

Harry had never before even uttered a single word about his terrible home life to anyone, always fearing the dire and severe negative consequences of what would happen if the Dursleys found out Harry had betrayed them. An hour later, when Harry was emotionally and physically drained, his teacher promised him that he would get Harry out of that house as soon as he could. Harry went back to the Dursleys with the hope that someone actually cared about him and that things were about to get better in his life. Even while his aunt was hitting him over the head several times with her frying pan, screaming at him repeatedly for coming home late from school and failing to prepare dinner on time, Harry was hopeful that everything would get better in just a few hours. He had even played around the idea that he would be able to find a loving family that wanted to take care of him after all. Maybe he'd find someone he could finally call "Mum" or "Dad." But when family services had shown up at Number 4 Privet Drive the next morning investigating Harry's wild yet true accusations, the Dursleys somehow managed to get it all brushed under the rug.

That night, after enduring hours of Uncle Vernon's ruthless beatings, with Dudley throwing in more than his fair share of punches and kicks, and Aunt Petunia's verbal tirades, Harry came to a horrendous realization: Nobody loved him. Nobody cared about him. And nobody would ever help get him out of this situation. He was all alone in this world, and if he wanted to survive, he would have to take matters into his own hands. He would never trust anyone ever again.

To make matters worse, as a particularly cruel form of punishment for making such horrific accusations towards his family, Uncle Vernon decided to pull Harry out of school indefinitely and officially 'home school' him. Needless to say, he was relegated to spending his days slaving away for the Dursleys without getting any academic schooling at all. While the idea of being able to avoid the persistent bullying by Dudley and his friends at school seemed appealing, it also meant that Harry would never again get a reprieve from his dreadful life at the Dursleys. Nowhere was safe for him, and he had no hope for a better future while living under their roof.

He ran away from his aunt and uncle's house nearly three years ago, just fourteen months after being pulled out of school and only a few weeks prior to his eleventh birthday. On that particular day, he had been involved in a violent and escalated row with his aunt and uncle. Even Dudley had joined in. After several hours of yelling, punches, kicks, and objects being thrown at him, he had had enough. Years of pent up rage and anger escaped Harry. Unable to control his emotions, he stormed outside with all intents of simply spending the night outside until things with his relatives had calmed down, but he had somehow managed to find his way to London, where he had been wandering the streets ever since.

He literally could not figure out how he got to London. He had been standing at the end of Privet Drive one second, and when he turned around to go back to the house, he found himself tumbling to the ground in the middle of a busy London shopping center. He supposed he must have simply been too upset and angry with his relatives to have remembered taking a bus trip to the big city and somehow passed out in the middle of the shopping center, but he could not be too entirely certain. Strange things happened to him all the time that he could not explain.

First of all, there was the matter of his hair. No matter how many times his aunt had given him horrid hair cuts that he absolutely dreaded, his hair always grew back within seconds. Then, there was that time that he was running away from Dudley's gang and somehow wound up on the roof of the school kitchens. Now that he lived on his own, strange things seemed to happen to him constantly. He discovered that if he focused on a place and pictured it clearly in his mind, he could instantly travel to the place by simply turning on his feet. He had used this method dozens of times already to escape a particularly dangerous homeless gang of teens. Also, he could move things with his hands if he concentrated on the tasks hard enough. Once, when he was running away from a police officer who was trying to question him about his activities, an abandoned vehicle somehow managed to start on its own and roll to a stop, conveniently blocking the exit of the alley and preventing the officer from apprehending him. Harry also discovered that if he focused on something really hard, he could summon it to him with one of his hands. Just the other day, during an escalating altercation with the gang of homeless teens, Harry had somehow managed to retrieve the weapon one of the boys had been attempting to use against him. Literally, one minute the other boy was holding a bat, and the next second, the bat flew into Harry's outstretched hand. The abnormal occurrences were endless these days, though Harry recently quit trying to perform any of it because the experiences made him severely dizzy and weak afterwards. In fact, the dizziness and weakness seemed to get progressively worse after each occurrence. He had a suspicious feeling his illness had something to do with the physical side effects of these abnormal occurrences.

Life on the streets was harsh. Survival meant spending all of the daylight hours scavenging the streets for food and money. Oddly enough, no matter how desperate and hopeless his situation became, he refused to steal from others. Years of watching Dudley and his gang bully others had contributed to his belief, and he held firmly to it. He couldn't, no, _he wouldn't_ , turn into people like his dreadful relatives. Sure, stealing food and money from others would make his life much easier, but that was against his principles. He would rather go hungry for days than to take someone's hard earned money without their permission.

Instead, he scoured the streets for abandoned money and searched dumpsters for thrown out food. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he would spot a person throwing away food after finishing his or her meal and he would be able to retrieve it from the garbage before insects contaminated it. No matter how stale, moldy, or unhealthy the food was, he had to make due with what he was able to get his hands on, which meant that he was unknowingly severely malnourished and extremely underweight for his age and height. He barely noticed this, however, because his many-sizes-too-big baggy and worn clothes that he had found in an abandoned building when he first wound up on the streets covered up most of his gaunt and emaciated look.

Nights were spent sleeping in abandoned buildings, park benches, or dumpsters. Often, he was able to stay in an abandoned building for weeks at a time until someone discovered his presence and ran him off. When he could not find an abandoned building to seek shelter in, he often slept on park benches. Ultimately, he found that sleeping in dumpsters during the winter time was a much more preferred method of keeping warm than sleeping on park benches in the bitter cold, as long as he was able to make it out of the dumpster prior to the next day's scheduled trash pickup. He'd had an unfortunate close call once. Luckily, the trash compactor unexpectedly froze and jammed prior to actually emptying the dumpster's contents (and Harry) into the truck (another strange occurrence that he couldn't explain) and since then, he made sure to memorize the trash pickup schedule for each dumpster he slept in.

He spent most of his time doing his best to go unnoticed, which wasn't too difficult when he made his way through busy crowds and jammed-pack streets. He always kept his head down, eyes lowered to the ground, refused to look anyone in the eye, and never spoke to adults. He learned that for the most part, if he did not return people's concerned gazes and did not engage in any form of conversation, they would leave him alone. Of course, there had been a few close calls in which people had called the authorities on him, but Harry always managed to escape. Years of running from Dudley and his gang had given him ample practice.

No, he wouldn't choose to live this lifestyle, but it was either this or life with the Dursleys, and he refused to go back to that old life. He had barely survived living with them. No, he couldn't go back. For him, there was no turning back.

Harry blinked his bleary eyes several times, realizing he had dozed off while lying on the bathroom floor. Inwardly scolding himself wasting away even more time that he could have been out looking for food, he slowly got his feet and returned to the main room on the second floor. He took a few steps towards his many-sizes-too-small shoes that were lying on the floor when a noise from behind him caused him to freeze on the spot.

"Hey, kid!" a man's voice shouted from the doorway. Harry's eyes immediately widened in fear as he realized he had been spotted by a middle-aged police officer. Harry cursed under his breath. Typically, he would be safe staying in abandoned buildings during the night, as police didn't often check them in the darkness. During the daylight hours, however, it was a different story. He had slept in too late and was now caught.

Forcing himself to forget how dreadfully awful he felt at the moment, adrenaline and a sudden burst of energy that he could not explain overcame him as he grabbed his raggedy old school bag that carried all of his possessions and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction, inadvertently leaving behind his shoes in the process. The only window in the room somehow exploded into thousands of tiny pieces of shattered glass, but that did not stop Harry. He dove through it and landed quite painfully hard on the concrete below, rolling on the ground several times before coming to a stop. Brushing off the sharp shards of glass, many of which were now embedded in his face, back, chest, arms, and hands, he jumped to his bare feet and took off down the busy street, ignoring the shouts of the police officer. Harry ran down street after street, spectacularly amazed that he somehow suddenly had the power to remain on his feet, and turned down multiple alleys in an attempt to lose the police officer that had chosen to chase after him. After several minutes of running, he found a dark alleyway to turn down. He immediately hid behind a large dumpster and breathed a huge sigh of relief when the officer ran past him and disappeared out of sight. He was safe. For now.

As the adrenaline quickly wore off, Harry recognized just how tired he really was after all of the unexpected and miraculous running. His eyelids were quickly becoming heavy and difficult to keep open. His limbs felt like lead. His labored and short breathing was causing him to become dizzy and disoriented. He needed to rest, quickly. He tried to get to his feet in an effort to find someplace safe to hide in, but he quickly lost his balance and fell backwards against the brick wall that he had been leaning against. He was too weak to stand, let alone move. Resigning himself to his ill fate, he slowly crawled under several cardboard boxes stacked hazardously against the dumpster to hide himself from view. As he laid his head down on the cold ground, relishing in the cool touch to his face, his exhaustion quickly caught up with him. He was asleep within seconds.


	2. Chapter 2: Lost

**Chapter 2: Lost**

Ron Weasley was lost.

He couldn't believe it. He'd been walking with his family down the streets of Muggle London one moment, and the next moment, they had all vanished from his sight. Of course, he hadn't exactly been paying any attention to where he was going or what they were doing, however, so it was completely his fault. He had been so completely wrapped up in how Draco Malfoy and his gang of bullies had unremittingly teased him on the train ride home that he hadn't really been focusing on anything that was happening around him. Well, truthfully, he was honestly more upset at how badly he had treated his best friend Hermione Granger the last few days. He had yelled at her the other day, even though she was simply trying to be helpful, and to make things worse, he had made her cry. He hadn't done that since their first year at Hogwarts, before they became best friends. Now, she was avoiding him, and he was worried about the status of their friendship. He couldn't blame her though. He had been in such a bad mood lately.

Ron had just returned that evening from his third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and to be honest, he couldn't be more relieved that it was over. He had the absolute worst end of term, and he couldn't wait to put the last week behind him.

It all started last Saturday, when his pet rat Scabbers once again ran away from him while he was walking around the grounds of Hogwarts with Hermione. As soon as they caught the rat, however, he was kidnapped by a large black dog and dragged mercilessly to the haunted Shrieking Shack. To make matters even more confusing, the dog turned out to be alleged mass murderer and unregistered Animagus Sirius Black. Ron's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor Remus Lupin and Potions professor Severus Snape quickly showed up, and together, the three adults revealed the true identity of Ron's pet rat. As it turned out, Scabbers was actually unregistered Animagus Peter Pettigrew in hiding, and Pettigrew was the one truly responsible for the murders that Sirius Black had spent twelve years in Azkaban wrongfully accused of committing. The three adults escorted Pettigrew back to the school and handed him over to the Minister of Magic, but before the Dementors could finish him off, Pettigrew transformed back into a rat and escaped. He hadn't been seen since.

Ron spent the rest of the weekend in the hospital wing due to injuries to his leg, but once he got out, he quickly realized that the entire school had completely turned against him. News of Pettigrew's true whereabouts for the last twelve years quickly spread, and since he had technically been Ron's pet for the last three years, Ron got all of the blame and responsibly for it from the other students. He'd been teased mercilessly by his peers ever since, and quite frankly, he was having a very difficult time with properly handling it. Nightmares of the real Pettigrew murdering all of those poor Muggles haunted him in his dreams each night, making it nearly impossible for him to get any sleep at all. Because students were constantly shouting out ridicules, teasing him, and talking about him behind his back, he quit going to the Great Hall for meals, meaning that he hadn't eaten much of anything in several days. He avoided everyone at all costs possible and mostly stayed in the room he shared with the other third year students in Gryffindor tower, though even there he wasn't really welcomed either. While Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas didn't come right out and say it, Ron knew they were very angry with him for unknowingly sharing their room with Pettigrew for the last three years. They refused to talk to him, look at him, or even acknowledge him. Neville Longbottom tried to cheer him up, but Ron simply ignored him. He clearly wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone right now. He'd hated every moment of the past week, and he couldn't wait to get home and get away from it all for a couple of months. He desperately needed a break.

When he first realized he was no longer walking with his family, he dashed down the nearest street to see if they had perhaps rounded the corner, but it was to no avail. Hoping they were simply the next street over, he ran down another street, but again, he had no success in finding them. After several minutes of frantically running down multiple streets and looking for anyone that even remotely resembled his family, he came to the stark realization that he was lost.

At first, he became angry with his family, especially his parents. How could they not have noticed that he wasn't walking with them anymore? How could they simply leave him behind? How could they forget about him? Did they not care about him anymore? Did they not love him anymore? Did everyone on this planet hate him because he had been harboring that awful rat all these years?

Then, he started blaming himself. He was the one who had been secluding himself from everyone over the past week. He was the one who was refusing to talk to everyone. His parents had been nothing but supportive of him, especially these last few days. They had both sent him letters everyday to ask him how he was doing. His mum had even made him his favorite dessert in an effort to cheer him up. Yet he hadn't even uttered a single word to them since he had arrived back at King's Cross, choosing to ignore their worried looks and concerned questions about his overall well-being. They hadn't done anything to him to deserve his harsh treatment.

Now he was lost, in downtown Muggle London of all places.

Maybe he deserved it.

Several minutes passed by before Ron made the ultimate decision to try and find his way home on his own. He was pretty certain his family had said they were going to The Leaky Cauldron, though he couldn't be absolutely sure. He hadn't really been paying attention to anything that they had been talking about. He'd been completely lost in his thoughts to comprehend what anyone had been saying to him over the last hour. Regardless, even if he didn't find his family there, he decided that he could simply take the Floo home to The Burrow.

The hard part, however, was getting to The Leaky Cauldron in the first place. He wasn't too familiar with London, as he typically travelled by Floo, and he only really ever came to London by his dad's Ford Angelia twice a year at the beginning and ending of each school term. He didn't really know where The Leaky Cauldron was in relation to his current location, and there was no way that he'd be able to ask a passing Muggle for directions. He would have to find it on his own simply by walking around. He hoped it wouldn't take too long.

After several minutes of walking down street after street, however, his stomach was rumbling. He hadn't really had much food to eat over the past week, but now he was absolutely starving. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to handle it. He would have to find something to eat soon. The hunger was simply unbearable.

The street ahead was blocked off. There must have been some sort of accident, as several cars were smashed together, and people were shouting frantically all around. In an attempt to avoid the incident up the street ahead, Ron chose to turn down a nearby alleyway. It was dark and eerily quiet. Ron, who had never had much experience of walking in downtown London, assumed it'd be safe to walk down alone. He was disastrously wrong.

When he reached the middle of the alleyway, he accidentally tripped over a large pile of cardboard boxes and fell flat on his face onto the pavement below. He heard a sleepy grunt coming from underneath the pile of boxes. After he quickly struggled to his feet, he frowned in confusion as he saw what appeared to be a kid not much younger than him apparently sleeping underneath the boxes. Ron's shocked eyes met the dull green ones before the mysterious boy quickly pulled the boxes back over him, hiding him from sight.

Ron froze in amazement, shock, and disbelief as his mind began racing a million miles a minute. What was this boy doing hiding out in the middle of a dark alley underneath all of those boxes? Why was he sleeping there? Was he using the boxes as his shelter or blanket? Didn't he have his own bed? Didn't he have a home? Didn't he have a family to take care of him? He was only a kid, after all. Surely there was some explanation as to why this mystifying boy was there, all alone, in the alley?

Ron's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud crash beside him. The next thing he knew, several raggedy teenagers had forcefully grabbed hold of his arms and harshly pinned him down to the ground, shouting at him.

"Give me all of your money!" one older teenager shouted hatefully at him.

"What?" Ron gasped, eyes widened in fear. He couldn't believe it! He was being robbed!

"He said, give him all of your money, you idiot!" another teenager shouted next to him, twisting his right arm painfully so that he couldn't move it.

"I-I-I d-d-don't-" Ron stammered desperately, clearly panicking. He didn't have any Muggle money to give them. He had absolutely nothing of value to them. He didn't know what to do! What would they do to him when they found out he had nothing worth taking?

"Stop your s-s-stuttering," a third teenager mocked as the rest of the boys around him broke out into maniacal laughter. "Empty his pockets, boys!"

Ron was helpless. He couldn't do anything as two boys reached into both of his pockets and recklessly searched through them.

"There's nothing in this one," one of the teenagers grunted disappointedly.

"I couldn't find anything in this one either," the other boy said regretfully. Ron's eyes widened even further in horror as the boy pulled out his wand.

"Except this," the boy said, twirling it in his fingers. He smiled maliciously. "Fancy piece of wood there, Ginger."

The boys around him laughed.

"Put it back," Ron grumbled, hoping the boy would listen to him.

"So what, you can poke me with it?" the boy asked sarcastically as the gang of boys continued to laugh in amusement. Ron cried out in horror as the boy held Ron's wand up in front of his face and carefully snapped the wand in half.

"There," he said, tossing the two broken pieces over his shoulder. They landed several feet away before rolling to a stop. "You want it, go get it."

The two boys who had been holding Ron hostage abruptly let go. Ron couldn't believe it. Were they really letting him go? He took a step forward in an effort to collect his broken wand, but his feet were immediately knocked out from under him. They had tricked him! He fell to the ground and heard a sickening crunch as he landed awkwardly on his right wrist and instantly broke it.

"That's for having nothing for us to take!" the boy who had tripped him said spitefully.

"Well, boys, we're obviously not going to get anything good from this one here. Let's show him a proper goodbye," one of the boys replied, grinning wickedly.

The next thing he knew, all four boys began kicking him everywhere they could. Ron tried to protect himself, but without his wand, it was hopeless. He couldn't do anything to make them stop. They were all much older and physically stronger than him, so there was nothing that he could do. He tried to block his face from being smashed in, but one of the boys stepped on his free arm and pinned it to the ground, making all of his efforts to protect himself fruitless.

Several minutes passed by as the four teenagers continued their merciless beating. Ron felt like they were never going to stop. He had never been in so much pain before. Blood was pouring down his face, running into his eyes and making it extremely difficult for him to see. His head throbbed excruciatingly against his skull, and his ribs ached in misery. He could barely move from the amount of pain he was in. He closed his eyes and simply prayed they would stop soon.

"Hey!" a hoarse voice broke through the teenager's evil laughter. "Leave him alone!"

All four boys instantaneously stopped and abandoned their mission. They all turned around to face the newcomer. Ron inwardly breathed a huge sigh of relief that they had been momentarily sidetracked, but he didn't dare make any sudden movements. He wasn't too certain he could move anyway if he wanted to.

"Well, look here, boys," one of the teenagers said sarcastically. "He's still breathing after all."

"Preparing for your funeral, Potter?" another one of the teenagers asked.

Ron painfully wiped the blood out of his eyes with the back of his left hand and blinked rapidly in an effort to see what was happening. After a few seconds, his vision refocused, and he could see why the teenagers were being so sarcastic.

In front of him, a boy with messy jet black hair stood firmly with his arms crossed in sheer determination. However, the boy was so pale, gaunt, and emaciated, it was a miracle to Ron that he was still standing on his feet. He had never seen anyone that thin before. The boy also seemed to be having issues breathing, but Ron thought it looked like the boy was doing a great job of trying to hide it. Ron also noticed that there were dozens of cuts, bruises, and scratches covering his body, as if he had just run through a glass window. In addition, his hair was missing random patches of hair here and there. The boy was wearing raggedy old clothes that were obviously several sizes too big for him and were so filthy it was noticeable they hadn't been washed in a long time. He was even missing shoes on his feet. How was this boy going to help him out of this situation when he was barely capable of taking care of himself? With a stark realization, Ron noticed that this was the same boy who had been hiding underneath the cardboard boxes only moments before.

"You know, we thought you had finally dug yourself a grave," the third teenager said nastily. "We haven't seen you around here in months. We've missed you and your sweet gullible innocent self, don't you agree, boys?"

The teenagers roared loudly with mischievous laughter. The boy stood firmly in place and glared darkly at the teens.

"I said, leave him alone!" the boy shouted, more sternly this time. Ron couldn't believe it. Did the boy actually think he'd be able to fight these four grown teenagers? The boy didn't look to be any older than eleven-years-old himself. He was absolutely in no condition to fight, let alone defend himself.

"Why should we listen to you?" one of the teenagers said threateningly.

"Remember what happened last time we ran into each other?" the boy said darkly, frowning at the boys. All four teenagers froze. The air was suddenly so quiet and still, you could hear a pin drop.

"You little punk!" one of teenagers said finally, breaking the tense silence and leaping towards the younger boy angrily.

The younger boy had just enough time to raise his right hand in defense as the teenager dashed towards him. Ron gasped in surprise when the teenager who was attempting to attack the younger boy was blown across the alley as a bright golden light that had erupted from the boy's right hand. The older teenager hit the brick wall behind him and fell to the ground with a crash. The fourth teenager ran over to help him to his feet.

"You freak!" one of the teenagers left standing on his feet exclaimed. "What did you do to him this time?"

"I…I…" the boy stuttered, seemingly surprised by his own actions. His eyes were wide in panic as he stared at the teen now wincing in pain and struggling to get to his feet. Ron frowned in concern as he realized the boy was visibly out of breath, shivering profusely, and swaying dangerously on his feet as large beads of sweat began to pour from his face. He looked like he was going to pass out any minute. "I didn't mean to… I didn't mean to hurt him."

Ron noticed what was going on. The boy had just used accidental magic to defend himself. This boy was a wizard, yet he didn't even know it!

"I tell you what, Potter," the ringleader said menacingly. He motioned towards his friends, and all of a sudden, Ron was yanked roughly to his feet by one of the teenagers. He stifled several moans as his ribs throbbed painfully against his chest and his right arm hung limply at his side. He was severely swaying on his feet and was afraid that he was going to pass out any minute. Ron gulped, preparing himself for another brutal bashing to come. "I'll make you a deal. If you come quietly with us, and I mean quietly, then I'll let your little friend here go."

Ron couldn't believe it. He was doomed. No one in his or her right mind would make that kind of deal. The boy didn't even know him! How was that even fair?

"You're lying," the boy said flatly, shaking off his apparent dizziness.

"Smart boy," one of the teens muttered sarcastically under his breath.

"Potter, since when have we ever lied to you?" the ringleader said, though the tone in his voice made it very clear to Ron that the teen was lying.

 _Strange,_ Ron thought. _The boy's name was Potter._ Ron couldn't be sure if it was his first name or his last name, but Potter was not a common last name in the Wizarding world, and it currently belonged to the most famous child in Wizarding history. Harry Potter was dead, though. It was just announced that morning. So, who was this boy? Was it possible that he was a Mudblood and simply wasn't aware of the Wizarding world yet?

"Then you're little friend here will meet his end after all. An eye for an eye, right? You hurt one of us, so it's only fair that we get to hurt one of you," the ringleader said.

Ron gasped in horror as all four boys immediately turned towards him, all moving towards him threateningly. He was going to die! One of the teens raised his fist in an effort to punch him, but his actions were interrupted by a loud shout.

"Wait!" the boy shouted. Ron noticed that for the second time, fear and panic seemed to be written all over the boy's face. "Don't hurt him! It's me you want, right? Take me instead. Let him go."

Ron was confused. What was happening? Was the boy really trading his life for Ron's? He couldn't believe it.

"I can't believe it," the ringleader snarled, a crooked smile appearing on his face. "Christmas has come early this year, boys. Looks like we're going to get our revenge after all."

Within seconds, Ron was forcefully pushed forward as the younger boy took a few steps forward. Ron immediately lost his balance and stumbled a few steps, but the boy quickly caught him and prevented him from falling. Ron tried to continue walking past the boy, but the boy tightly squeezed his arm and turned on his feet. Ron gasped in surprise as the familiar sensation of Side-Along Apparition coursed through his body. Everything went black, and he was suddenly being pressed from all directions. He could not breathe, his chest was tightening painfully, and he felt like he was being sucked into a tiny rubber tube. All of a sudden, however, everything stopped. Something about this Side-Along Apparition seemed very wrong. A piercing, agonizing scream erupted from his side. Ron opened his eyes, gasped for air, and slammed to the ground. As he scrambled to get back to his feet as quickly as his already sore body would allow him, he realized that the boy was now rolling around on the ground in excruciating pain, screaming and clutching his chest with both of his hands. Ron's eyes widened in horror as he noticed a large amount of blood pouring through the boy's fingers. His Apparition had failed and he had been horribly Splinched!

The teenagers seemed to relish the distraction. Ron violently flinched as he watched all four teenagers rush forward to hover over the boy.

"Let's show this little freak who the boss is around here," the ringleader said nastily over the boy's terrifying screams.

Ron gasped in horror as three of the teenagers began kicking him mercilessly, just like they had done to Ron only minutes earlier. At first, the boy attempted to fight back, but after a minute of failed attempts, his horrifying screams came to a sudden halt, and the boy quit moving. Ron was just about to turn around and run for help when he caught the fourth teenager out of the corner of his eye. The teenager was carrying a metal bat, which he swung down and struck the boy with several times. What was he going to do? He had to go get help- they were going to kill the boy for sure, if they hadn't already- but Ron was afraid that if he left him alone, it'd be too late by the time help arrived. He had to do something. Ron cautiously approached the group, intent on jumping in the middle of things in an effort to attract some of the attention off of the boy, when familiar voices shouted out from behind him.

"Dad! Mum!" he cried, watching as his mother and father ran down the alleyway towards him, shouting nonsensical words at the group of teenagers. The teens immediately ceased their beating of the boy and ran in the opposite direction, disappearing down the alleyway within seconds.

"Ronnie!" his mother cried, tears streaming down her face as she approached him. Ron, who had been running on pure adrenaline, collapsed into his mother's arms and closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. He felt himself being lowered to the ground by his parents and blearily opened his eyes just in time to watch the rest of his siblings catch up to them. "You're hurt!"

"Ron, what happened?" his father asked urgently at his side.

"I'm sorry," Ron said, tears streaming down his face as the harsh reality of everything that just took place began to really hit him hard. It was over. It was all over. He was safe now. His family was here… they had finally found him. Everything would be okay… only, it wasn't. The boy who had saved his life was now fighting for his own life, and it was all Ron's fault. "I'm so, so, so sorry!"

"Ronnie, what happened?" his mother's voice cooed gently as she ran her fingers gently through his hair in an attempt to calm him down.

"I-I got lost… I-I c-couldn't find you… Then they showed up and… and attacked me…"

"This boy here?" his father asked, pointing towards the now unconscious boy lying on the ground a few feet away. "He attacked you?"

"NO! He-he saved me! He saved my life!" Ron gasped, shaking his head furiously. He had to make them understand. The boy was in such bad shape and desperately needed their help. "Please, Dad, please save him. You have to save him. He's hurt so badly. He's going to die, all because of me. Please help him!"

Ron watched in desperation as his dad quickly got to his feet and rushed over to the boy's still form, kneeling beside him. After taking one look at him, Ron watched as his father exchanged a meaningful glance with his mum.

"What? What is it?" Ron asked worriedly, catching the worried exchanges between the two adults. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Ron, dear, let's get you home and get you all fixed up," his mother said softly, trying to sound hopeful and optimistic. He felt his mum's gentle hands begin to pull him up, but Ron tugged his good arm out of her grasp and frowned at her. Did they really think he was that naïve?

"No," Ron said, shaking his head resolutely. "I'm not leaving. Not without him."

"Ron," his father began hesitantly.

"No! I'm not leaving him behind, do you hear me? He saved my life! I'm alive because of him. I can't just leave him here to die," Ron shouted hotly, gesturing to the unconscious boy frantically. How could they not understand that this boy needed their help?

"Ron, he's not breathing," his father said sorrowfully, shaking his head slowly. "There's nothing we can do."

"Nothing? But- but- you're a wizard! Do some magic and fix him!" Ron cried desperately.

"Ron, he can't," his mother said quietly. "We're not allowed to perform magic on Muggles, it's against the-"

"But he's not a Muggle!" Ron exclaimed, forcing himself to his feet. He immediately stumbled and swayed, but the twins caught him before he fell down. He clutched at his aching ribs with his good arm and stifled several moans before continuing his plea. "He's a wizard! I saw him blast one of those guys across the alley into that brick wall over there!"

"Ron, are you sure you weren't imagining it?" Percy asked, the first sibling to have said anything since they arrived.

"No!" he exclaimed, annoyed that no one was doing anything to help the boy. "And he forced me into a Side-Along Apparition!"

"What?" everyone exclaimed in shock.

"He Apparated?" his father asked in disbelief, eyes wide with surprise.

"Yes… well, actually, no… but he tried, and he failed miserably, and he got Splinched in the process. Just look at his chest! He's a wizard, I swear! I'm not making this up. Please, please help him!"

Ron watched as his father leaned over the boy and slowly lifted his shirt up, all in an attempt to validate Ron's story. Ron couldn't actually see anything because his father's figure was blocking the view, but his father's gasp of surprise confirmed Ron's suspicions.

"Molly, he's been severely Splinched," his father whispered urgently, fear lacing each word. Ron rolled his eyes in annoyance. Did they believe anything he said?

"Arthur," his mum began worriedly, taking a step forward. "What are we going to do?"

Ron didn't have to wait much longer for an answer. Just a few seconds later, a tremendous unearthly gasp erupted from the boy, signaling that he was once again breathing, albeit harshly and extremely laboriously. He was alive, but just barely.


	3. Chapter 3: Found

**Chapter 3: Found**

The first thing Harry was aware of as he came back to consciousness was pain. Intense and excruciating pain. He had never been in so much misery before. His chest felt like it was on fire, as a terrible burning sensation ran up and down his torso. His lungs felt like heavy bricks were crushing them, causing him to gasp desperately for air. His already diminished breathing worsened to short, agonizing breaths. His head was pounding painstakingly against his skull and wouldn't stop spinning out of control. His ribs felt excruciatingly sore and tender. He was in so much pain that he couldn't move any part of his body. He was temporarily paralyzed from head to toe.

At first, he was extremely confused. What had happened to him? Where was he? Why was he in so much pain? Then, his thoughts slowly caught up with him. The police officer… the broken glass… the red-haired boy… the homeless gang of teenagers… the brutal beating…

He remembered that he had been sleeping quite soundly underneath a pile of abandoned cardboard boxes in a dark alley when a red-haired kid tripped over him, nearly blowing his entire cover. Harry promptly ignored the kid and immediately pulled the boxes back over himself, hoping to avoid any type of confrontation with the boy. However, just moments later, a familiar gang of homeless teens showed up, thoroughly ruining Harry's meticulous plan.

Harry had experienced this particular gang many times before, so he understood exactly the amount of grave danger that the red-haired boy was actually in. This precise gang of homeless teens had attempted to recruit him into their group previously on multiple occasions. After repeatedly turning them down again and again, however, they all turned against him. Ever since, every time he ran into them, something bad always happened and someone always got hurt. Harry knew from first hand experience just how violent and dangerous these teens could really be.

Harry listened to the following conversation between the boy and gang while trying to quickly come up with a plan to get the kid out of harm's way. He couldn't help but think of how utterly careless the boy was, walking down a dark alley in the middle of London all by himself. Didn't he know how dangerous it was to walk the streets of downtown London alone? Someone would have to get him out of this dangerous situation, however, and considering there was no one else around, it looked like Harry would have to be the one to do it.

When the boy started screaming in pain, that's when Harry knew he couldn't simply wait around any more. As the familiar tingling sensation ran up and down his body, causing yet another wave of dizziness to wash over him, he instantly felt more alert and awake. For the second time that day, his adrenaline kicked into overdrive. Any sign weakness, illness, or pain that he had felt only moments earlier momentarily slipped away, making him feel more energized than he had in months.

He peeked out of the boxes to make sure no one could see him before slowly rising to his feet. As soon as he stepped out of the shadows to intervene in the commotion, a back and forth quarrel escalated between Harry and the gang. When one of the teens lunged threateningly towards Harry, he somehow accidentally threw the teen against a brick wall, nearly killing him in the process. Then, when he grabbed the red-haired boy and attempted to escape with him, something went disastrously wrong. He literally felt his chest being ripped open as he fell to the ground with a terrible crash. The gang of teenagers instantly surrounded him, kicking and punching him as many times as they could, but Harry was vaguely aware of any of it; the pain from his chest was painstakingly excruciating. Ear-piercing shrieks of pain reached his ears, and it took several moments for him to realize it was his own screaming he had heard. The last thing he remembered before darkness consumed him was something metal colliding heavily with his head, knocking him unconscious.

As Harry continued to lie motionlessly on the hard ground, trying to gain partial control of his labored breathing and attempting to block out the unbearable pain radiating throughout him, he gradually became aware of several voices surrounding him. At first, his mind couldn't grasp any of what the people were saying. The voices seemed quite distant and muffled. After a few moments, however, their words began to make sense.

"…I've stopped the bleeding for now, but it's only temporary," a woman's voice spoke from somewhere above him. She was closer than Harry had initially thought. "The spell won't hold for long."

"So he's going to make it?" several panicked voices asked in unison.

There was a long pause. The air around him was unusually still and quiet.

"Mum?" someone asked uncertainly when the woman didn't answer. "He's going to live, right?"

"He needs to go to the hospital," the woman said matter-of-factly, purposefully choosing not to answer the child's question. "And so does Ron."

"I'll take the boy," a man's voice offered. "I'll Apparate with him to St. Mungo's. Percy, will you please Apparate with Ron to St. Mungo's as well?"

Harry froze in horror. What were they talking about? Some of what they were saying didn't make sense. _What did Apparate mean? What was St. Mungo's?_ But he did understand the word hospital… were they talking about him taking him there? If so, there was absolutely no way he was going anywhere with them. Not after everything he had gone through and put up with just to stay out of the hospital… But what was he going to do? He still couldn't move, so he couldn't simply run away like he had in the past each time that he had to escape a tricky situation. Right now, in this instant, he was helpless.

He vaguely felt two pairs of hands lightly touching him. For most people, this would seem comforting and helpful; however, for Harry, who had only ever known immense pain to result from human contact based on his abusive experiences with the Dursleys, it made him extremely apprehensive and uncomfortable. He couldn't move his arms, but after a few moments of failed attempts, he found that he could move the fingers in his right hand. In an attempt to force off the unwanted touch, Harry wiggled his fingers, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as the familiar tingling sensation ran down his right arm and an unbearable yet familiar wave of dizziness once again overcame him. He meant to shove the hands away, but instead, a bright flash of golden light suddenly erupted from around him, momentarily blinding him, and the pairs of hands instantaneously disappeared. He could hear a girl scream in horror, along with several shouts of surprise and a loud crash in the distance. A few seconds later, the light vanished.

Harry slowly opened his eyes. At first, he couldn't really see anything except for black spots dancing in front of him, but after blinking several more times, his vision came into clearer focus. Out of the corner of his eye he could hazily see the blurry outlines of numerous people lying on the ground several feet away. Harry gasped in horror. He hadn't actually meant to hurt them. It was an accident! What did he do?

"Bloody hell!" came several shocked and mesmerized male voices.

"Is everybody okay? Ron? Ginny? Fred? George? Percy?" a woman's panicked voice reached Harry's ears. He actively listened the reassuring responses from each corresponding person and secretly sighed in relief that they were all relatively okay.

"Did anyone else see what happened?" a man's voice spoke urgently.

"No, I don't think so," came several stunned responses.

"Percy, take your brothers and sister back to The Leaky Cauldron. We'll meet you there when we're finished here," the woman said.

 _'When we're finished here,'_ Harry repeated anxiously in his head. What were they going to do to him? Were they going to kill him? Were they going to finish him off? A million thoughts were racing through his mind as panic and fear welled up inside him. He was doomed!

"But Mum-" several voices protested eagerly.

"We want to see what happens!" the boy named Fred replied excitedly.

"There's nothing to see here. The Ministry of Magic will be here soon, and I don't want you here when they arrive," the woman answered promptly, as if ending the conversation. Harry was thoroughly confused by what they were talking about.

"But… but… what about Ron? Dad just said-" the boy named George started.

"He was going to take him to St. Mungo's. His arm's broken, and he can't walk on his own-" Fred continued.

"Are you really going to make him walk the entire way back to The Leaky Cauldron all by himself?" George pointed out, though he didn't sound worried about Ron at all. If anything, to Harry, it sounded more like an excuse to stay.

"Fine," the woman said sharply, giving in to the boys' eager requests. "But stay back and don't make any sudden movements."

"Mum, p-please, you h-h-have to help him," the girl named Ginny cried tearfully. Harry's frown deepened even further in unfathomable confusion. _Why was she crying? What was wrong?_ Surely, she wasn't crying because of him. No one ever cared about anything that happened to him, so why would she? Harry's heart skipped a beat. What if he had accidentally hurt her when they were somehow blown backwards? Was that why she was crying? His thoughts didn't make sense, however, because the adults didn't seem to be worried about the girl's well being. He was, therefore, completely bewildered by the girl's actions.

His breathing hitched and he froze in terror when he heard several pairs of shuffling footsteps approaching him once again. Harry couldn't help the feeling of absolute terror that immediately washed over him once again. What were they going to do to him? His eyes shot open wide with fear and he gasped in alarm as he looked around desperately for an escape route, but his vision kept swimming dangerously in and out of focus, making it nearly impossible to see anything around him except for blurry shapes and figures. What was he going to do? How was he going to get away from these people? There seemed to be so many of them… at least six or seven figures in all…. It would most certainly be complicated to outrun all of them, but not unfeasible. If only he could get to his feet….

He instantly tried to sit up, regretting the quick movements instantaneously as the razor-sharp burning sensation in his chest worsened significantly. He moaned in agony while sharply gritting his teeth and collapsed onto his back, panting heavily from his failed attempt at escape. He clutched his sides in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle the increasing pain in his chest, but a warm, gooey substance poured out from between his fingers. When he pulled his hands away to investigate the cause, he hazily noticed with confusion that his hands were covered in blood.

Harry vaguely felt someone kneel down next to him, instantly making him feel even more uneasy. This time, however, he vowed to keep his emotions under control. He didn't want to accidentally hurt anyone else today with his strange talents, regardless of what they were about to do to him. Whatever they were about to do, no matter how much it hurt, he'd have to deal with it until he could figure out a way to escape. It was very difficult, however, as he was absolutely terrified of what was going to happen to him next.

"Son, are you okay?" the older man's voice said as the man's face swam into view. Harry could feel his heart racing in downright panic as he squeezed his eyes shut in pain. He had just hurt this man's entire family. What was the man going to do to him? Surely there'd be some form of punishment for Harry's reckless actions. _"You're a freak,"_ his uncle's sinister voice rang in his ears. _"You're going to pay for it this time, boy!"_ As painful memories of his uncle flooded his vision, Harry prepared himself for the harsh blows that were sure to come. He deserved it after all. Hopefully the man would be quick and just get it over with.

"Here, let me help you," a woman whispered as she kneeled down next to Harry. Her tone had some sort of emotion to it that was very unfamiliar to Harry. Was it concern? Harry frowned in confusion, unsure of what to make of it.

The woman reached out to him with a cloth in her hand, attempting to apply it to his chest wound, but Harry frowned deeper in uncertainty. He shook his head forcefully, but instantly regretted it. It felt has if his brain was literally bouncing against his skull several times. He winced in pain and immediately felt sick to his stomach. He knew he had a concussion. He had had several concussions before, mostly compliments of Dudley and his gang.

"We're not going to hurt you," she continued in a saddened voice, but Harry knew better than to trust her. He wasn't about to fall for their tricks like he had for the Dursleys hundreds of times before. She waited for Harry's consent to apply the cloth to his chest, but Harry gave no such approval. Harry stared at her in bewilderment. She wasn't actually concerned, was she?

"How are you feeling?" a man with red hair asked as his face swam in and out of focus above Harry. He must have been the person referred to as Arthur. Why was the man talking so calmly to him? Why wasn't he screaming or yelling at him, like Uncle Vernon typically did when Harry did something so careless? He didn't actually care about how Harry was feeling, did he?

Harry didn't respond to the man's question. He couldn't move without causing himself intense pain. What was he going to do? How was he going to get himself out of this situation? How was he going to break away from these people without them noticing?

As his vision came into clearer focus, he began to study his surroundings. A short, plump woman with red hair was kneeling directly beside him. He assumed she was the mother. A tall, gangly man with balding red hair was kneeling directly next to her. He assumed he was the father. Four teenage boys and a teenage girl, all with bright red hair, stood gathered around him.

Everyone was looking at him with a look that was extremely foreign to Harry. He had seen his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon look the same way whenever Dudley was injured, but nobody had ever looked at Harry like this before (except maybe that one time when he had opened up to his primary school teacher about his past). They each had deep concern etched on their faces, and the younger girl even had tears running down her face. The unfamiliar looks of concern made Harry extremely uncomfortable and slightly nauseous, bringing him back to his senses again as his head continued to throb mercilessly against his skull. He closed his eyes and grabbed his head with both hands as his world threatened to spin out of control again.

"Can you perhaps tell us what hurts?" the woman's gentle voice rang throughout his ears. "Is it your head? Or your chest? Or is it something else?"

 _Don't look at them,_ he told himself, keeping his eyes shut tight. _Don't say anything either. They don't really care about you. They're tricking you. They'll just send you back to the Dursleys._

"Arthur, he's losing more blood," the woman's voice said in a hushed whisper. "We need to act quickly."

Harry inwardly gulped in fear. What were they planning on doing to him? Were they going to hurt him? More importantly, why were they taking their time? He wished they'd just get it over with. Harry braced himself, just in case. He quickly tried to come up with a plan to defend himself in case they decided to attack him after all, but all of his thoughts were muddled together and he couldn't think straight.

"What's your name, son?" the man's voice asked in the same worried tone that the woman had used earlier, though with more urgency now.

 _Don't say anything,_ he told himself, keeping his eyes shut tight. _If you ignore them,_ _they'll lose interest soon enough. Just like everyone else did._

Several seconds passed by in silence, but to Harry's utter astonishment, the small crowd gathered around him didn't budge.

"Dear, if you could just please tell us your name, maybe we could help you?" Molly said kindly.

Harry didn't respond. Several more seconds passed by in silence, but Harry refused to answer their questions. He wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Do any of you kids recognize him? Perhaps he goes to your school?" he heard the man ask the surrounding teens.

"No, Dad," several figures responded. "We've never seen him before."

"He's frightened of us," the woman's voice rang out worriedly. Harry opened his eyes and glared at her blurry figure, in an effort to show her that he was not scared of them (even though he really was), but his glare soon turned to a pained look as his head continued to throb excruciatingly against his skull. He groaned again and raised both hands to his head in an attempt to get it to stop hurting so much. "Dear, it's okay. Don't worry. Help is on the way."

"N-no!" Harry gasped, wincing in pain as he tried and failed yet again to push himself up into a sitting position. The meaning of the words "help is on the way" had only just registered in his foggy and jumbled mind, and all prior thoughts to remain silent flew out of his mind. After a few seconds of struggling on his own, he felt several pairs of hands touch him once again.

"No… p-p-please… d-don't," Harry pleaded, his eyes widening in horror as he violently flinched from the unfamiliar touch. He was only vaguely aware of several gasps around him as flashes of terrifying memories of his uncle and cousin throwing punches at him flew before his very eyes. After nearly ten seconds of struggling, he hastily shrugged the unwelcomed hands off him. The small scuffle left him breathless, causing him to pant heavily as he tried to catch his breath. Beads of sweat poured down his face, and his entire body began shaking with feverish chills. _Not now_ , he thought desperately as the familiar signs of his illness began to return.

"Please, let us help you," the man's voice offered gently, but Harry shook immediately shook his head in disagreement, causing himself to groan out in pain again. After several more failed attempts, he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"Are you alright, dear?" the mother asked softly. Harry froze, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. No one had ever spoken to him this way before, leaving him utterly perplexed. The woman's voice had been soft, gentle, and full of concern each time that she had spoken to Harry. So had the man's voice. _Were they actually worried about him?_

Against his better judgment, Harry slowly nodded in response, wincing once more as he realized that was the wrong thing to do for his concussed head.

"Y-y-yes, m-ma'am," Harry replied automatically, thoroughly embarrassed by how hoarse and raspy his voice sounded from its severe lack of use. In fact, he wasn't used to talking at all. Most days, he avoided talking to anyone at all in an effort to stay hidden and not catch anyone's attention. "I-I'm… s-s-sorry…."

"What are you sorry about, dear?" the woman asked tenderly, smiling at him reassuringly.

"F-for… h-h-hurting… you…" Harry admitted, now extremely humiliated by his actions. They hadn't hurt him yet. Maybe they really weren't going to? Unshed tears of frustration were welling up in his eyes, but he forced them away with a quick wipe of his hand. What was wrong with him? Why was he so emotional today? "I… I… d-didn't m-mean to."

"It's okay," the man responded kindly.

"Perhaps it would be best if you laid back down? You've been seriously injured," the woman asked, reaching out to touch Harry's shoulder, most likely in an attempt to help him lay down. Harry's eyes widened in fear and he violently flinched at the uncomfortable touch. He immediately scooted painfully backwards away from the group, only stopping when his back hit a brick wall behind him. He surveyed his surroundings for a quick escape route.

He didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't want to go through this right now, not in his unstable condition. Yes, he was severely injured, and these people were attempting to trick him somehow because of it. They were being overly nice to him in an attempt to catch him off his guard. He wondered whether the Dursleys had anything to do with it. Most likely, they did. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were probably standing around the nearest corner, getting a laugh out of the entire situation. Harry wouldn't allow himself to be fooled, not this time.

"Molly, maybe we should just take him back to the Leaky Cauldron and wait for the Ministry to arrive there?"

"But he won't let us, Arthur," the woman whispered worriedly. Harry knew they were talking about him. "How are you going to carry him for blocks at a time when he won't even let us touch him?"

"Shouldn't the Ministry be here by now?" the boy named Percy asked perplexed.

"The department might be too busy," the man named Arthur replied, uncertainly. "Sometimes, if the accidental magic isn't serious enough, they let it slide by… Perhaps I should just take him to the St. Mungo's myself?"

"N-n-no!" Harry stuttered awkwardly, extremely confused by what the man was talking about but utterly terrified that the man would keep his word. Refusing to allow his pain to overcome him again, he pushed himself up off the ground and into a standing position. The crowd around him gasped. He instantly swayed on his feet and would have fallen once more had it not been for the teenage boys that immediately grabbed onto him, catching his fall. Against his wishes, they lowered him back to the ground in a sitting position. He was stuck. He couldn't get out. "I-I-I'm fine."

"Please, dear, lie back down. You're extremely unwell, and you're going to injure yourself further," the woman pleaded desperately, but Harry wasn't listening. He had to escape, or everything that he had worked for over the past three years would be ruined. He continued to sit up, frantically looking around for an escape route, but he couldn't find an easy way out of this mess.

"Do you live nearby?" the mother asked, seemingly changing tactics.

"N-no, ma'am," Harry quickly lied, backing away from the group once more. He wished they would quit talking. He had such a horrendous headache and wanted nothing more than to lie down and go to sleep. He felt so terrible.

"Well, perhaps if you showed us where you live, I could take you home?" the man offered. Harry didn't believe the man for an instant. He was lying, Harry new it.

"No, please, don't, sir," Harry said, his eyes continuing to wildly scan his surroundings for a getaway plan. "I'm fine."

"Dear, I'm sure your family will be worried about you," the woman gently continued, taking a step towards him. "Please, just let us take you home to your family."

Harry froze in a downright panic at the meaning of her words. All rational thinking suddenly went out the window as he realized his worst nightmares were coming true.

"No-no-no! You- you can't! They'll- they'll kill me!" he gasped in utter horror, eyes widening in terror. They were going to return him to the Dursleys! He couldn't go back! He wouldn't!

"Who, dear? What are you talking about?" the woman smoothly prodded, attempting to sound reassuring, but making Harry even more uncomfortable than he already was.

"The Dursleys! My aunt and uncle! They will kill me if I go back! They've already tried!" Harry shouted frantically.

Harry was in a complete panic at this point, fearful and terrified of what would happen if he went back to his relatives, so he didn't realize what he had said before it was too late. The small crowd of red heads simultaneously gasped in horror, looks of shock, confusion, and downright terror covering their faces.

"You're- you're Harry Potter!" the man and woman both gasped in shock.

Harry took a sharp intake of breath. Upon realizing he slipped up the names of his relatives, thereby effectively ruining three years of life on the run and completely blowing his cover, he threw both of his hands out in front of him. Bright light erupted from both of his hands, and before he could do anything to stop it, the buildings around him exploded. Flashes of light consumed his vision. Brick by brick came boring down profoundly on Harry, who had been sitting the closest towards the buildings. He tried to throw his hands out again to somehow stop the sharp pieces of brick that were landing heavily all over him and causing him intense pain, but nothing happened. He cast his arms out again, directing all of his attention on stopping the colossal explosion, yet still nothing happened. Within moments, everything around Harry went black and he knew no more.


	4. Chapter 4: The Rescue

**Chapter 4: The Rescue**

Molly Weasley gasped in downright horror as the brick buildings around her family exploded in a remarkably powerful display of uncontrolled accidental magic coming from the terrified and panic-stricken thirteen-year-old wizard. Instinctively, she instantly whipped out her wand and waved it several times, casting a protective barrier between her family and the blast to save them all from any harm. The protective shield didn't cover the black-haired boy in time, however, and she cried out in desperation as he disappeared under the falling debris.

"Arthur!" Molly cried, fearing the worst for the poor child. While witches and wizards were able to withstand much more force and duress compared to Muggles, there was absolutely no way the boy could have survived the explosion. His health had visibly already been in an extremely precarious condition before; the explosion surely would have killed him.

Dust and fragments from the explosion lingered in the air, making it difficult to see anything around them except for the dozens of small fires that had broken out in the smoldering wreckage. For nearly a full minute, the only thing that Molly could hear was an earsplitting ringing noise buzzing in her ears. As her hearing returned, however, she gradually became aware of several terrifying screams and shouts coming from both ends of the alleyway. She gasped in trepidation as she realized that Muggles must have heard the explosion. If any of the Muggles actually witnessed the explosion, or even saw the ruins, the entire family would be in grim trouble by the Ministry of Magic. Without any hesitation, Arthur pulled out his wand.

" _Repello Muggletum!_ " Arthur shouted, instantly casting a Muggle-Repelling Charm over the entire affected area. If the charm had been successful, Muggles would immediately become confused and disoriented, causing them to avoid approaching the alley altogether. Molly held her breath in anticipation as she watched either end of the alleyway for any Muggles, but thankfully, no Muggles appeared. The charm had worked.

"Is everyone okay?" Molly found herself asking her children frantically for the second time that day.

"Yeah," the twins said breathlessly in astonishment as Ron and Percy silently nodded their heads. Ginny was crying and clutching onto Percy. Thankfully, all of her children were unharmed and untouched by the explosion.

"Molly, do you think-" Arthur asked uncertainly, nodding towards the rubble. He couldn't bear to finish his sentence, but Molly didn't need him to anyways. She was thinking the same thing. _Was the boy still alive?_

"I don't know… Harry?" Molly called, hoping she'd hear some sort of response from the trapped boy. "Harry?"

"Harry?" Arthur shouted, taking a few steps towards the wreckage in hopes of hearing some sort of response from the boy. "Harry Potter?"

Nothing.

"It'll be okay. Everything will be okay," Arthur said, though the quiver in his voice told Molly that even he wasn't so sure. "We'll find him."

Molly and Arthur immediately set to work with repairing the wreckage from the explosion, muttering the proper incantations to set the destroyed buildings right again. Within just a few minutes, all of the bricks and concrete pillars flew back into their proper places, and all of the buildings that had exploded just minutes before were put back together. Any Muggles who had heard the noise of the explosion would be oblivious as to what actually happened, as the buildings were back to normal once again. It was as if nothing happened.

Molly gasped again as her eyes landed on Harry Potter, whose body had been crushed mercilessly underneath an incredible amount of weight only moments before. She rushed over and fell to her knees, waving her wand over his lifeless figure several times as she muttered the life-saving incantation. Golden sparks flew from her wand and dived into his heart, causing his back to arch up off the ground momentarily and forcing his heart to start again. She waved her wand again, this time muttering a different spell, and his chest filled up with air, signaling that he was breathing once again. She didn't know how, but Harry Potter had somehow miraculously survived yet again.

Arthur knelt down next to her. Automatically, he gently slid his arms under the boy's unconscious form and lifted him up, cradling him tightly against his chest. The boy lay motionlessly in his arms, unaware of anything that was happening.

"Molly, I'm Apparating back to the Burrow with Harry," Arthur said grimly, turning to face her.

Molly nodded, agreeing with the sudden change of plans. They couldn't take the boy to St. Mungo's now. The Wizarding hospital was absolutely out of the question for this child.

"We're coming with you," she said immediately, making up her mind. She stood up and strode over towards her youngest son, who had been doing a remarkably amazing job at hiding his injuries for so long and was now buckled over in pain himself. "Fred, go with your father. George, help me with Ron. Percy, please Apparate back to the Burrow with your sister."

"But what about the car?" Fred asked worriedly.

"It has all of our stuff," George added in concern.

"We'll worry about that later, boys. Right now, what we need to focus on is getting everyone home safely and getting help for Harry and your brother," Arthur said with a tone of finality.

"You don't really believe that this is Harry Potter, do you?" Percy muttered unbelievably, crossing his arms in disconcertment as he frowned deeply. "Harry Potter is dead! The Ministry of Magic just announced it this morning! It was in the Daily Prophet!"

"Percy-" Arthur began warningly, but Ron jumped in.

"They referred to him as 'Potter,' Mum," Ron gasped, as memories of his encounter with the homeless teens flew before his eyes. "Those people… those boys… they called him Potter. I-I didn't think anything of it at the moment until…"

"Percy, regardless of whether this is Harry or not, he is an underage wizard who needs our help," Molly said, grabbing Ron around the waist and holding him up. "No Muggle hospital will be equipped to help him, surely you understand that."

"So then why aren't you taking him to St. Mungo's?" Percy blurted out. He was quite worked up over this, Molly thought.

"Because if this really is Harry Potter, St. Mungo's is too dangerous for him. If the public finds out that he's there, it'll be pure chaos," Arthur replied.

Molly agreed. Both Weasley parents had been heavily involved in the frantic search for Harry Potter. When the boy had first disappeared, Arthur and Molly both spent numerous months on different search teams conducted by the Ministry of Magic. After several months of thorough yet fruitless searching, the Ministry eventually slowed down their search efforts, and they were both invited by Albus Dumbledore to join the Order of the Phoenix. The Order of the Phoenix had been a secret organization formed during the last Wizarding war in an effort to take down Voldemort. It had been disbanded after Voldemort's downfall, yet it was reformed again just hours after Harry Potter's confirmed disappearance. Albus Dumbledore had always been very adamant that if they were to ever find Harry, he couldn't be taken to St. Mungo's. There were still too many Death Eaters out there who wouldn't think twice about hurting Harry.

A few moments later everyone arrived back on the outskirts of the Burrow. Arthur ran down the long, dirt path leading to the Burrow, carrying an unconscious Harry in his arms while Fred ran ahead of them. Percy and George grabbed Ron around the waist and helped him limp painstakingly up the path as Molly and Ginny followed behind them. When they reached the house several minutes after Arthur and Fred had already entered, Molly rushed inside and got Ron settled in a chair at the kitchen table, as the rest of the children huddled around. She summoned her first aid kit with her wand and pulled out several vials of various potions. She handed Ron a Pain-Relieving Potion, and after making sure that he drank the entire vial, she waved her wand several times, mending his broken arm in a matter of seconds. Thankfully, he didn't have any other broken bones. His face was swollen, however, so she took out some bruise-healing paste and quickly applied it to his face. She also handed him a calming draught, as he was visibly in shock.

"That'll have to do for now," she said, watching as he drank the entire potion in one gulp. She knew Ron had just been through a terrible ordeal, and she felt bad for not being able to devote any more time to taking care of him properly right now. However, there was a boy in the other room who needed her help much more right now, and his life depended on it.

"Molly, I need your help in here!" Arthur's panicked voice came from the living room. Reminding Ron and the others to stay put in the kitchen, she ran into the living room as quickly as she could.

Harry was moaning in severe pain, his head tossing and turning from side to side as he fought to stay awake. His eyes were clenched shut in agony. His entire body was convulsing in agony. He was profusely bleeding, as blood was pouring all over the sides of the couch and dripping onto the floor. The boy's desperate gasps for air were very few and far in between, signaling that he was struggling to breathe once again, and his acute round of hacking coughs wasn't helping matters any. It was an absolutely terrifying sight for Molly, who thought she'd seen it all raising seven children. The traumatically injured boy desperately fighting for his life on her couch proved her wrong.

"Please… please…" the boy pleaded, opening his eyes and desperately looking around the room in a wild panic. His eyes landed on her, and for the first time that day, they locked eyes. Molly gasped in surprise, as she hadn't expected it. She felt her heart wrench devastatingly in grief and sorrow for the wounded boy. "Don't… take… me… back…"

"Shhh," Molly cooed softly, walking swiftly yet cautiously around the couch to kneel in front of the boy. She desperately wanted to comfort him, to make him feel better and let him know that everything would be okay, but given his current condition, she wasn't sure how to console him. The boy had made it quite obvious that he didn't want to be touched, and she was afraid she would do more damage than good if she touched him in his present state of mind. She would simply have to keep trying to reassure him with her words. "It's okay, Harry. Everything will be okay. You're safe now. We're not going to hurt you. We're going to help you."

"No… please… The Dursleys… they'll… kill… me…" the boy cried, tears of despair falling down his face as his pleading continued. "Please…"

"Harry," she whispered, tears of sadness clouding her eyes. She wanted to say more to soothe his fears and to calm his sorrows, but at that moment, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he passed out once again.

"Oh, Arthur," she cried breathlessly, preparing to cast another spell on the boy in case he was unresponsive again. _Had they lost him for good this time?_ She sighed a breath of relief when she saw his chest rise and fall in a steady, yet very delayed rhythmic pattern. While it was very faint and weak, he was still breathing and his heart was still beating…. for now.

"I've alerted the Order," Arthur said, breaking Molly out of her anxious thoughts as he returned from the kitchen. She hadn't even noticed him leave in the first place. The panicked look on Arthur's face told her that he had been thinking the same thing as her. "Albus should be here any second now."

"I hope he's not too late," Molly whispered, her voice breaking. A sudden rush of emotions was threatening to overtake her. She couldn't cry. Not right now. There'd be time for that later. She couldn't lose control now. The boy on the couch needed her. Shaking her head sorrowfully, she summoned her first aid kit once again. They would need it.

"Will he be okay?" Ron's shaking voice called out. Molly groaned as she realized all five of her younger children were standing in the doorway. They had been watching the entire time. They shouldn't see this. They shouldn't see a boy their age die. They were too young to witness something like this. They wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Ronnie, dear, I want you to go back to the kitchen with your brothers and sister," Molly said quietly, not taking her eyes off of the injured boy. "I'll be in there soon to check on you."

"No," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "It's my fault he's like this."

"Ronnie," Molly gasped, turning to her youngest son. Tears were falling down his pale face. The calming draught hadn't worked after all.

"It should've been me… I was the one they wanted… It should've been me…" Ron continued, sniffling as more tears threaten to overcome him.

"Son," Arthur started, but Ron shook his head.

"I have to make sure he survives this," Ron whispered worryingly, wiping his face with the back of his hand. Molly had never seen her son so heartbroken.

"I'm staying put. I want to help," Ron said, more confidently this time.

"Is… is he dying?" Ginny choked out, tears falling down her face as well. The twins each had a hand on her shoulder, comforting her in the only way they knew how.

"Mum?" the twins asked when she didn't reply. "Harry's going to be okay, isn't he? You're going to fix him, right?"

Molly was at a loss for words. She didn't know what to say. Should she lie to them and tell them everything would be just fine? That the boy was going to live, even when all of the evidence pointed otherwise?

A loud commotion of movement in the kitchen redirected her attention. The next thing she knew, Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape came striding briskly into the living room. Each of them had deep looks of worry, concern, and fear etched into their faces.

"Where is he? Where is Harry?" Albus asked anxiously, his eyes frantically scanning the room before landing on the injured boy lying on the couch. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he took in the seriousness of the situation. "What happened?"

"Ron was robbed by a group of Muggles in downtown London. This boy came to his rescue and saved his life," Arthur explained quickly over the increasingly painful moans coming from the semi-conscious boy. He was beginning to wake up again.

"Harry?" Dumbledore whispered, shock evident in his voice as his eyes studied the boy's present precarious state. He leaned over the boy and peered at him through his half-moon spectacles. He reached out and gently brushed the dirt away from the boy's forehead, revealing the lightning bolt shaped scar that Molly had failed to check. "Harry?"

Severus quickly pulled out a small glass vial from the pocket of his robes. He held it up to the boy's chest, easily gathering a blood sample from the boy. Whipping out his wand, he softly muttered an incantation, and the words _Harry Potter_ appeared on the outside of the vial.

"Albus!" he gasped, a look of horror flashing across his face as he looked from Albus to Harry. A wave of regret and remorse flashed across the potions master's face as he stood frozen in shock, staring at the boy who was still moaning in pain on the couch. "It's really him!"

Harry blearily opened his eyes and looked around the room once more in a desperate attempt to plead his case yet again.

"Please…" the boy moaned, though his speech was severely slurred, making him nearly incoherent. "Please… don't… please… don't… take… me… the Dursleys… will… kill… me…"

"Hush," Molly said coaxingly, trying to comfort the boy once more. "Everything will be alright."

Slowly, she raised her hand and gently ran her fingers through his hair, attempting to soothe the boy as she frequently did for her own children. At first, the boy's eyes furrowed in utter terror and he flinched away violently in pain, but then his look of fright turned into one of confusion as she continued to softly stroke his hair. _He thought I was going to hurt him_ , she thought sadly.

"There's nothing to be scared of, Harry," she continued warmly, trying to smile in reassurance, though even she wasn't sure he was going to be able to survive much longer with the extent of his injuries. He was still losing so much blood. "No one here wants to hurt you. You're safe now. We're going to fix you so that you feel better soon."

For a moment, Molly thought he was going to pass out again as his eyes briefly flickered shut. He opened them again, however, and resumed to wildly look around the room in distressed alarm. This time, his eyes landed on Severus, and for a brief instant, their gazes met. Molly noticed that Severus violently flinched and stumbled backwards, tripping over a chair and falling to the ground. The boy's eyes flitted shut as he lost consciousness yet again.

"Severus, there's no way we can handle this ourselves," Albus said urgently, rushing to the side of his faithful potions master to help him back to his feet. "He's in a much worse state than I thought. This is beyond any of our capabilities. Please return to the school and retrieve Poppy immediately."

Severus, however, seemed lost in deep thought as the headmaster helped him to his feet. He continued to stare at Harry with an intense look of guilt and unspeakable pain.

"Severus!" Albus said loudly, finally gaining the potions master's attention.

"C-certainly," Severus whispered, snapping out of his thoughts. He nodded curtly before setting off for the kitchen.

"And Severus?" Albus called as an afterthought. Severus hesitated, awaiting further instruction from the headmaster. "Please hurry. I'm afraid we don't have much time left."

"Do you think she'll be able to help him?" Arthur asked somberly as Severus disappeared through the kitchen door.

"Madam Pomfrey is the best medi-witch Hogwarts has ever had. She is a remarkable Healer. If she can't heal him, then no one can," Albus responded gloomily. Albus flicked his hand towards Harry. Harry's tattered sweater and shabby pants vanished at once, leaving him dressed only in his boxers. Everyone in the room gasped in alarm.

As a mother raising seven children, Molly had seen her fair share of gruesome injuries, both of magical and non-magical nature. Nothing, however, could have ever prepared her for what she saw. The boy's unkempt clothing had hidden the worst of his injuries. For the first time since her eyes had landed on the boy, she was able to get a proper look at his true condition, and what she saw instantly made her feel sick to her stomach.

The boy's body had been severely beaten. He had a serious head wound; the blood flowing freely from a large gash in his forehead was proof of that. His face was swollen to nearly three times its size, as black and blue bruises began to set in over the majority of his face. Besides the immense swelling and heavy bruising that was settling in all over his body, his arms and legs were sticking out at odd angles, signaling that they had been broken in the explosion or the mugging, Molly couldn't be sure of which. His ribs were caved in, making it obvious that his chest and pelvis had been severely crushed. His entire body was covered from head to toe in filth, dirt, and blood. Dozens of scrapes and scratches littered his body where glimmering chunks of debris and shards of broken glass stuck out at different angles. A considerable gash from where he had been Splinched was running vertically from his breastbone to his naval, as if his chest had been torn apart by an invisible force. She noticed he had received a few nasty burns from the explosion as well. Finally, Molly didn't need a spell to tell her that this boy had been severely malnourished, as the bones nearly protruding from his body told him that he had been starved and famished. Quite frankly, she didn't know how he was still alive.

"Everyone, out of the way," the familiar voice of Madam Pomfrey rang throughout the room as the medi-witch arrived. Severus strode in behind her with his arms full of potion vials, towels, bandages, and extra medical supplies. When her eyes landed on the Harry, she gasped in shock, freezing in place as she took in the dire and dreadful condition of the boy lying unmoving on the couch. Molly noticed an anguished grimace flash across her face before the medi-witch regained her composure and immediately got to work on saving the boy's life.

For the next several hours, Madam Pomfrey, Albus, Severus, Arthur, and Molly cast healing charm after healing charm on the boy to repair his countless life-threatening injuries. As it turned out, he had the worst case of malnutrition that Madam Pomfrey had ever witnessed in a witch or wizard. He was exceedingly underweight and emaciated, weighing only half of what a thirteen-year-old boy his age should weigh, and his scrawny skin-and-bone frame was clear evidence of that. According to her wand recordings, she described that he hadn't eaten or drank anything in several weeks, causing him to survive purely off of his magic alone. The fact that he wasn't able to keep down any of the potions that were administered to him were clear evidence of that. Each time that Severus administered a new potion to the boy, he would immediately throw it back up. As a result, none of the potions were effective, and his condition continued to worsen. He continued to toss and turn in a restless state of semi-consciousness, moaning in pain and crying out at various times in a desperate plea for them not to take him back to the Dursleys.

To make matters worse, Madam Pomfrey explained that he had a severe case of pneumonia, which was practically unheard of for a wizard. Most witches and wizards were able to effectively fight off simple Muggle illnesses, such as the cold or the flu. However, since Harry's magical stores were already under a significant amount of stress and strain due to his traumatic state of homelessness and lack of proper nutrition, his magic had been unable to effectively fight off his most recent illness. As a result, his cold turned into bronchitis, which in turn resulted in a nearly fatal case of pneumonia. Madam Pomfrey said that if he had been an ordinary Muggle, he wouldn't have survived the illness in his condition. The only thing that had saved him was his limited amount of magic that he had left in his magical stores, which had been completely depleted when he accidentally blew up the buildings around him back in the alley.

Harry had dozens life-threatening injuries, including a severely cracked skull, a major concussion, six fractured ribs, two collapsed lungs, a shattered wrist, two fractured ankles, several broken bones in both legs, numerous fractured bones in both arms and hands, a crushed pelvis, and a broken back. The damage to his major organs was great, but due to everyone's speedy wand work, they were able to revive most to a respectable condition.

After mending those injuries, they painstakingly removed glass shard after glass shard as he still had hundreds of open cuts resulting from some sort of run in with a glass window some hours before. Molly held back her tears as she gently scrubbed the blood, dirt, and filth from every inch of the boy's skin. The only relief that she got from doing this was that there would be minimal scarring, since these were simple Muggle injuries that wizards typically recovered from fairly quickly.

After successfully cleaning, healing, and bandaging each gash, open cut, and abrasion, she helped Madam Pomfrey apply healing salves, bruise salves, and burn salves over his injuries. His large chest wound that he received during his Splinching, however, was extremely difficult to heal since it was a rather serious magical injury. The gash wouldn't close properly, even with several doses of Dittany, so they were left with simply wrapping his torso in heavy gauze and white bandages.

According to Madam Pomfrey, he wouldn't have lived past the hour if he hadn't received the proper Wizarding medical attention. He was lucky to be alive.

 **A/N: Don't worry, there's more to come! The next chapter will pick up right where I left off. The original chapter was rather long, so I chopped it up into two different parts.**

 **Thank you very much to everyone who has read this story so far. I really hope you like it. An extra special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to review. It's really encouraging, and I really appreciate it!**


	5. Chapter 5: Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 5: Best Laid Plans**

"He's stable, for now," Madam Pomfrey announced four hours later, collapsing in a nearby chair from exhaustion.

Molly sighed in relief as she observed the boy who was currently resting, albeit agitatedly, on the couch. He was tossing and turning in his sleep, and the soft moans coming from him told her that he was still in a lot of pain. _The poor boy was already in so much misery,_ Molly thought. _Why did he have to continue suffering though this? When would his torment stop?_

"Thank you, everyone, for your help today," Albus started grimly as Molly and Arthur also took their seats. Molly noticed with relief that her children were nowhere in sight. Percy must have followed instructions after all and escorted them to the kitchen, as Arthur had requested hours earlier when they had first started working on healing Harry's injuries. Looking around the room, her eyes landed on Severus. Severus had retreated to a far corner of the room, appearing to be lost in deep thought as he stood motionlessly in place. Molly noticed, however, that he never took his eyes off of Harry.

"He's still in so much pain," Molly said quietly, voicing her concern aloud to the medi-witch. "Madam Pomfrey, are you sure there isn't anything else we can do for Harry?"

"Unfortunately, for the time being, there is nothing we can do. He's been starved for far too long. For the time being, his body is unable to effectively digest liquids or solids," Madam Pomfrey answered gravely. "Which means any potion that we give him will be useless. I can't simply expand his stomach magically- I've seen far too many instances where it's gone disastrously wrong- so it could actually cause more harm than good. We will simply have to re-administer one potion at a time in extremely small doses until his body relearns how to process it all. Considering the significant amount of blood he has lost tonight alone, we'll need to start with the Blood-Replenishing Potion first before we try anything else. Until he can keep that potion down successfully, I'm afraid there isn't much we can do about the pain."

Molly grimaced at Madam Pomfrey's words. _Why did Harry have to suffer longer when he had already been through so much all ready?_

"Severus, will you please prepare Harry for transport? I will take him back with me to Hogwarts," Albus explained calmly. The headmaster had never looked so tired before, but there was a renewed twinkle in his eye that hadn't been there since Harry's disappearance had first been announced three years ago.

"Albus," Madam Pomfrey sputtered, completely thrown off guard as she jumped back to her feet in a state of shock. "Absolutely not!"

"Pardon me, Poppy?" Albus asked, perplexed by the normally composed medi-witch.

"I said Harry was stable, for now, but we can't risk it by moving him," Madam Pomfrey explained urgently. "He's still tremendously ill. It'll be extremely dangerous to move him in this condition. He will need to stay here until he recovers further."

"I'd rather prefer for him to come back to the castle with me, Poppy, where I can guarantee his safety. Are you sure there is no other way?" Albus asked imploringly.

"I'm positive. It's too risky to move him. His body has been through so much trauma in the last few hours alone, I'm afraid that if he lose him, we might not be able to bring him back again with his magical levels as low as they are," she stated, staring at the boy once again with concern. "Moving him from this house could kill him instantly or cause him irreversible harm."

"Very well," Albus sighed regretfully, disappointment evident in his eyes that he wouldn't be able to take Harry back to Hogwarts with him after all. He turned to Molly with a grave expression. "Molly, I'm sorry to impose this on you. I hope this isn't too much trouble."

"Arthur and I would love to have Harry stay," Molly said without hesitation. One quick glance at her husband confirmed that he agreed. "He is welcome here for as long as he wishes to stay."

"Are you sure?" Albus pressed.

"He saved our son's life," Arthur said confidently. "Offering him a place to stay while he recovers is the least we can do for him. We'll never be able to repay him for what he did for our family."

"That settles it then. I will arrange to strengthen the wards around the house immediately," Albus explained as he conjured a large comfy purple chair out of thin air and settled into it comfortably. "In the mean time, I will reach out to contact Harry's godfather to let him know what has happened. I have no doubt that he will want to see Harry as soon as possible."

"Godfather? Wait, you can't possibly mean… are you sure about that?" Molly asked uneasily, as a memory of Sirius Black's frightening Azkaban mug shot flashed before her eyes.

"Molly, Sirius Black is innocent of all charges. He did not commit those murders that he was accused of all those years ago, and his name has been cleared by the Ministry of Magic. As Harry's legal guardian now, he has a right to know of Harry's condition," Albus reminded her gently.

"Of course, of course," Molly said quickly, inwardly scolding herself for being so thoughtless. "Sorry, I forgot that he was innocent for a minute there…"

"Sirius will also be welcome here as well for as long as he needs to in order for Harry to get better," Arthur said reassuringly, resting his hands on Molly's shoulders and squeezing them comfortingly.

"Out of extraordinary precaution, no one is to speak of Harry's return outside of this house. While I have no doubt there will be enormous excitement and tremendous relief when the rest of the Wizarding world finds out he is alive, I'm afraid there may still be some Death Eaters out there who will want to take revenge on Harry for causing Voldemort's downfall," Albus explained seriously. Molly and Arthur cringed at the name of the Dark wizard.

"Of course," Arthur replied, nodding his head in understanding. "I will make sure my children are passed along the message."

"Thank you, Arthur," Albus continued. "I will also have Order members stand guard at all hours."

"Stand guard? Albus, is that necessary?" Molly asked incredulously.

"While he is only thirteen, Molly, Harry is a professional escape artist. He's been avoiding capture for three years now, both from Muggle and Wizarding communities alike, and I am not about to risk him disappearing on us again. I'm afraid that until he receives his wand and learns to keep it on him at all times, he is untraceable," Albus said seriously. The concern in the old wizard's eyes told Molly that he was simply worried for the boy. "And, unfortunately, there is the slight problem that Harry is a very powerful untrained wizard."

"What do you mean, Albus?" Molly asked in confusion, unsure as to where this conversation was heading. _Was he eluding to the fact that Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, was possibly dangerous?_

"From what you have described, Harry has displayed an incredible amount of accidental magic in just the last few hours alone," the headmaster pointed out.

"Well, of course he did, he was under an incredible amount of stress," Molly replied defensively.

"Exactly, Molly," Albus said delicately. "The next few days and weeks will continue be extremely stressful and even devastating for Harry, as he recovers from his injuries, learns about his place in our world, and deals with the trauma of his past. Until he learns to properly control his magic, he could potentially be extremely dangerous to everybody around him. You already experienced that on at least two separate occasions this evening alone."

"Albus, I raised seven magical children. Don't tell me that I don't know how to handle bouts of accidental magic," Molly said, somewhat harshly. _Harry Potter was not dangerous. He was a child, for goodness sake. Why was Albus describing him as such?_

"Of course," Albus said, choosing to end the topic of conversation. "But until Harry is in good enough condition to travel to Hogwarts, where I can personally guarantee his safety and monitor whereabouts continuously, I want the grounds of the Burrow supervised by the Order at all times. It's for the safety of everyone involved, including your family. And if he vanishes on us again, I'm concerned we might not be able to find him next time."

"Do you really think he will try to run away from us?" Arthur asked anxiously. "Do you think he'll run away from the Burrow?"

"Considering his behavior tonight, I think that's a very safe assumption," Madam Pomfrey answered forlornly. "He seems to be very adamant about not returning to the Dursleys'."

"He is so terrified," Molly whispered, shaking her head in sadness as she continued to stare at the boy lying on the couch. "He is so scared that we are going to take him back to those… awful people!"

"And rightfully so," Madam Pomfrey pointed out carefully. "He's spent the last three years trying everything in his power to stay away from them. I think he's made it quite clear that he'd rather risk his physical health and mental wellbeing than to return to his aunt and uncle's house."

"Where do you think he's been all of this time?" Molly pondered aloud. "He's been gone for three years…"

There was silence. Molly looked around at Albus and Madam Pomfrey, who were both exchanging identical worried looks.

"I have my assumptions, but it seems that only Harry will be able to answer that question… in due time, of course," Albus stated.

"What do you mean?" Arthur pressed.

"Well, considering his severe malnutrition, lack of proper clothing, and lack of personal hygiene, I think it's clear that he's been homeless for quite some time, potentially even living on the streets for the last three years," Albus stated gravely.

Molly gasped, shaking her head in disbelief. A ten-year-old living on the streets? All alone? With no food… no shelter… no clothing… and absolutely no one to lean on for support? She couldn't imagine it. This theory was simply too tragic to consider. _Surely there had to be some other explanation for his condition?_

"Poppy," Albus asked grimly, finally asking the question that was on everyone's mind. "Were you able to distinguish any signs of abuse that happened while Harry lived with the Dursleys?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed deeply, preparing herself for the news that she was about to deliver. She stood up, pulled out her wand, and waved it in one swift motion. Out of thin air, a rather large roll of parchment appeared. With another silent wave of her wand, the parchment unrolled itself. Molly noticed with confusion that it was several feet long.

"My initial diagnostic spells confirmed thousands of separate incidents of physical trauma to his body, most of which occurred within the timeframe that Harry lived with the Dursleys. According to this report, he has had thousands of superficial injuries, bumps, and bruises that were all caused by either human touch or household objects. Some of the more serious injuries included dozens of fractured and broken bones, all of which badly mended themselves on their own accord," Madam Pomfrey reported. Molly gasped and turned to her husband, who had an identical look of shock and horror on his face. Molly had read all of the newspaper articles ever written on Harry and his tragic childhood, but she never imagined the abuse was this severe. _How was the boy even still alive?_

"I would have removed and re-grown the poorly healed bones tonight, but considering he can't ingest a simple Pain-Relieving Potion, that will have to wait until another appropriate time," Madam Pomfrey continued.

"Were you able to identify the actual perpetrators of those injuries?" Albus asked urgently.

"While the recordings couldn't identify the people that caused the injuries, I think it is safe to assume these were just some of the injuries that the Dursleys admitted to committing during the Ministry of Magic's initial investigation into his disappearance," Madam Pomfrey reported matter-of-factly.

Everyone held their breath in concern as a weak voice broke through their conversation.

"Please… no…" Harry moaned agitatedly from the couch. His eyes were clenched shut tightly, but his head was moving from side to side as if he was having a nightmare.

"It's okay, Harry," Molly said gently, standing up and walking over to the boy's side. She leaned over and whispered softly in his ear. "Go back to sleep. You're safe here. We won't let anyone hurt you."

"But…" The boy, who was only barely conscious, fell silent once more. He'd fallen into a restless slumber again.

"The rumors are true, Albus," Madam Pomfrey whispered, continuing the conversation from before as she turned back to the headmaster. "Only the abuse was much worse than we originally thought… a thousand times worse… well, at least physically. Diagnostic spells can't detect emotional abuse."

 _They could heal physical injuries… but emotionally? How had it affected him? If his hysterical and frantic behavior tonight was any sign, then he wasn't coping with it very well,_ Molly thought.

"Is there… is there anyway that we can help Harry?" Arthur asked the medi-witch, seemingly reading Molly's mind. "Both physically and mentally… What is the best way to help him?"

"Physically, he's going to have a long road ahead of him. First and foremost, we need to figure out a way to keep his fever down long enough for his body to properly heal itself and effectively fight off the infections that I wasn't able to eliminate. Typically, I would prescribe a Fever-Reducing Potion to bring a fever down, but considering his condition, this will be simply impossible for quite some time. We will also need to clean any open wounds several times a day to avoid risk of any more infections. Any additional strain on his body could be lethal at this point," Madam Pomfrey began gravely.

"Since he can't keep down any of the healing potions, he's going to be in intense pain for the next several days and weeks. Even though we were able to thankfully mend most of his injuries, the pain from those injuries will still be present until we can successfully administer him several full doses of the Pain-Relieving Potion," Madam Pomfrey continued. Molly nodded in understanding, knowing full well how hard the next few days were going to be for everyone involved.

"He's going to be extremely weak and tired for several weeks," the medi-witch rambled on. "He needs as much sleep and rest as possible so that his magical stores can slowly rebuild themselves. And, under absolutely no circumstances should he perform any type of magic, including accidental magic. Any small amount of magic performed by him could be fatal."

"And emotionally?" Molly asked, repeating the question that Arthur had asked earlier. "How can we best help Harry emotionally?"

"Well, seeing as how I haven't been able to have a proper conversation with Harry to judge his true mental state, I can only make assumptions based on my prior experience with children who have been through traumatic situations such as his. However, this is perhaps the worst case of child abuse and neglect that I've ever seen, so whatever I tell you may or may not apply to him," Madam Pomfrey started, wringing her hands together nervously.

"Please, Poppy, we would like to hear your professional expertise anyway," Albus said supportively.

"For right now, the most important thing you can do for Harry is to make sure he understands that he is safe. He needs to feel security, both with the people taking care of him and with his surroundings. He needs someone who will be a constant in his life, whether it's the two of you, Molly and Arthur, or Sirius, or all three of you. He needs someone who will be there for him, regardless of his feelings or actions," said Madam Pomfrey.

"We'll be there for him," Molly said automatically, looking at Arthur for support. "He can trust us completely. We'll do anything to help get him through this."

"He won't believe it at first, though, as you witnessed on several occasions tonight. He won't be able to trust anyone at first. You simply need to keep reminding him and proving to him that he is safe and that he can trust you. If he can't gain anyone's trust, then I am afraid that it will be a very difficult road to recovery both emotionally and physically," Madam Pomfrey finished.

Molly sighed. It'd been a long night, and she was starting to feel the aftereffects from it.

"Well, I think everyone has had enough excitement for the day. Molly, please don't hesitate to contact me with any concerns that you have regarding Harry. I will stop by tomorrow to check on him. Arthur, if you please, would you mind if we had a few words alone in the kitchen about the additional enhancements that I would like to put into place regarding security and protection around the Burrow?" Albus asked as he walked towards the kitchen in an attempt to leave.

Albus retired to the kitchen to speak with Arthur, while Molly and Madam Pomfrey finished moving Harry into Ron's room. Molly pulled out one of her extra cots for Harry to lay on. Once Harry was settled in, Madam Pomfrey left to return to Hogwarts in order to restock her medical supplies and grab a few personal items. She would be staying at the Burrow for the next several days to assist with Harry's recovery until his health significantly improved.

Molly dressed Harry in a pair of Ron's plain pajamas. They were extremely large on him, but she shrank them to fit him more comfortably. She fluffed the boy's pillow and covered him with a heavy blanket, casting a warming charm on the latter. She sat in a chair next to Harry's bed and gently caressed her fingers through his hair, stroking it as softly as she could. She often did this whenever caring for a sick child in her house. It always made them feel more comfortable, and she only hoped she could provide this boy with some sense of comfort in his current condition.

If Molly had it her way, he would never be left alone again.

She thought back to when she had first encountered the poor boy. When she had initially laid eyes on him, four older teenagers were in the process of aggressively and brutally attacking him. In fact, one boy had viciously assaulted him several times with a metal bat. When Molly effectively chased the boys away with the help of her husband, her thoughts had originally been solely on Ron's physical and mental wellbeing. He had looked worse for wear, with a severely swollen face, heavily disheveled clothing, and a visibly broken arm. But those injuries were extremely minor in comparison with the other boy's injuries. When she found out that the poor boy had in fact saved her own son from the atrocious beating, she couldn't believe it. He had defended Ron against four older teenagers who were twice the size of him and saved Ron from potential death. _Why would a child be so selfless as to risk his own life for a stranger?_

Flash forward back to now, and Molly couldn't help but think about how awfully tragic the entire situation was. Harry Potter, the boy who caused He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's downfall and survived ten years of horrific abuse at the hands of his terrible relatives, was now fighting for his life because he had heroically saved Ron from that horrific attack. It was completely heartbreaking. Her thoughts drifted off that what his life must have been like for the last thirteen years.

Just like everyone else in the Wizarding world, she had spent nearly ten years under the false impression that Harry Potter was growing up in a safe and nurturing environment. He was The-Boy-Who-Lived, after all. The one who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who was considered to be one of the most powerful and Darkest wizards of all time. Harry, most of all, deserved a perfect childhood full of love, laughter, and carefree worries. It had been absolutely heartbreaking and devastating when the truth about his abusive and horrific past slowly began to trickle out in the Wizarding news three years ago.

She glanced down at the nearby nightstand and found that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet lying on top of a few other shuffled papers. She had left the newspaper in Ron's room earlier that morning while she had been cleaning and preparing it for Ron's homecoming that evening. She read the blaring headline on the front page for the twentieth time that day:

 **THREE-YEAR-ANNIVERSARY OF BOY-WHO-LIVED'S TRAGIC DISAPPEARANCE APPROACHES; MONUMENT DEDICATION AND MEMORIAL SERVICE PLANNED AS HARRY POTTER IS OFFICIALLY DECLARED DECEASED**

The now familiar haunting photograph of a ten-year-old Harry Potter took up the majority of the front page. Somehow, the Daily Prophet had managed to obtain the young boy's school photograph and turned it into a Wizarding one. In the photo, a young innocent boy initially stared down at the ground, his head bowed deeply as he refused to look up at the camera in uncertainty. The boy was visibly uncomfortable with getting his picture taken. After several seconds of gazing at the ground, he slowly and bashfully looked up. The edges of his lips slightly twitched as if the boy was attempting to smile for the camera, yet he failed miserably. As a flash of light overtook the picture momentarily, signaling that the photographer had snapped the boy's school picture, a heartbreaking and painful look of sadness filled the boy's face. There was a distinct poignant sorrow in the boy's vivid green eyes and sharp facial features, making all readers extremely uncomfortable upon first glance. It was as if the boy's vivid green eyes were crying out for help, which no one heard or listened to. _If only we'd known_ , Molly thought sadly. She took in the boy's messy jet black hair, hiding portions of his famous lighting bolt shaped scar. The boy's face also looked unusually slender and pale, causing it to have a slightly unhealthy appearance to him. _Why didn't anyone say anything? Why didn't any of his teachers notice what was happening to Harry? Why didn't anyone help him?_ Molly thought miserably. _He was clearly in danger._ Frustrated with her thoughts, her eyes scanned to the article below.

 _Today marks the three-year-anniversary of Harry James Potter's tragic and heartbreaking disappearance from Number 4 Privet Drive._

 _As everyone knows, Harry Potter lost his parents, the brave and heroic Lily and James Potter, to You-Know-Who prior to mysteriously causing the elder's downfall on October 31, 1981. As a mere one-year-old who just lost his mother and father, young Harry was sent to live with his Muggle relatives in Surrey, a small village outside of London. Some witches and wizards said at the time that it was a good idea to have the young tragic hero raised away from the spotlight the Wizarding world had shone on him. Others voiced their concerns with leaving such a powerful and potentially Dark wizard in the hands of uneducated Muggles. If only someone could have foreseen the horrific events that would take place at the now infamous Number 4 Privet Drive, perhaps the entire tragedy could have been avoided._

 _According to his Muggle aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley, during the initial interrogations, Harry ran away after a misunderstanding over dinner on June 14th, 1991. More than six weeks passed before the Wizarding world was alerted to Harry's seemingly mysterious disappearance. When his Hogwarts letters continuously returned to the school unopened and unanswered, Hogwarts staff were dispatched to the young wizard's house to investigate the apparent lack of response. They were shocked and horrified, however, to discover that the boy was nowhere to be found and had seemingly vanished without a trace._

 _After several thorough investigations by multiple departments within the Ministry of Magic, including groundbreaking Ministry-controlled interrogations of the Dursleys using the truth potion Veritserum, the horrid truths of Harry Potter's abusive and downright cruel childhood were uncovered. Not only had the boy been subjected to spending his childhood living in a tiny dark cupboard under the stairs, but he had been severely beaten, abused, starved, and tortured, both physically and mentally, on a daily basis. With no prior knowledge of his historic place in Wizarding history, nor any awareness of the Wizarding world at all, it was concluded that Harry merely thought he had no other choice. Having to choose between suffering endlessly at the ruthless hands of his heartless relatives or running away in a desperate attempt to survive, Potter chose the latter, and he hasn't been seen since._

 _Immediately following the discovery of his disappearance, thousands of witches and wizards from all over the world set out on the largest missing persons search ever conducted by the Ministry of Magic. The search for the Savior-Of-The-Wizarding-World continued profusely for the next three years with no success. Undetectable tracking charms and failed detection spells have led ministry officials to believe that Potter is no longer alive. As a result, today, the Minister for Magic has declared it an official day of mourning, as The-Boy-Who-Lived has officially been pronounced deceased._

 _"He saved the entire Wizarding world from a future of anguish, torment, and tragedy. Families were put back together, lives were rebuilt, and we were able to sleep safely at night because this brave child was able to do something that no other grown wizard could do- take down the darkest wizard of our time. He deserved nothing but the best, including a life full of lavishes, riches, and extraordinary adventures. And unfortunately, most of us were falsely led to believe that he was doing just that. Instead, he spent ten years in hell with the worst Muggles in recorded history. Let us celebrate Harry's legacy once more today and move to make sure that this tragic situation never happens again to another member of our Wizarding community," said Minister Fudge in a statement released exclusively to the Daily Prophet._

 _A monument dedicated to the boy wizard is presently being constructed in Diagon Alley. A memorial and dedication ceremony is currently being planned for July 31_ _st_ _, which would have been Harry's 14_ _th_ _birthday._

 _More on Harry Potter's shocking childhood with the Muggles on pages 2, 3, and 4, a horrific timeline of events on pages 5, 6, and 7, happier memories of the Potter family on pages 8 and 9, and what his legacy means for the future of the Wizarding world on page 10._

Molly shook her head sadly. She found it quite ironic that on the very day Harry Potter was pronounced dead, signaling that the Wizarding world had effectively given up on ever finding the lost boy alive again, he was found alive… just barely, of course, but quite indeed alive after missing for all these years.

A gentle knock at the door pulled Molly out of her depressing thoughts.

"Molly, dear, can I come in?" Arthur's soft voice came from the other side of the door. After gaining her approval, the door opened, revealing her exhausted husband. Arthur rushed to his wife's side. When he gently rested his hands on her shoulders, her composure finally broke, and she lost it. Arthur kneeled down and pulled his wife into a warm embrace as she cried great tears of sadness over everything that she had seen that night.

After several long minutes, she wiped the tears from her eyes in an attempt to regain control of her emotions. She had to be strong. For Harry.

"We have to be strong," she whispered, more to herself than anything. "We have to help him through this. He has no one."

"He has us," Arthur whispered, kissing his wife on the forehead and smiling reassuringly at his wife.

There was another knock on the door. The door opened to reveal five very tired, yet worried teenagers. They had all seen too much that night.

"Mum!" Ginny said, rushing forward and hugging her tightly. Molly squeezed her daughter tightly in return. After all of the sorrow and sadness that she'd seen that night, it was nice to be surrounded by the people she loved the most. Ginny pulled out of the hug and took a few steps back, awaiting Molly's response.

"We were so worried!" Ron exclaimed nervously.

"How is Harry?" Fred asked excitedly.

"Will he be okay?" George added.

"Calm down, calm down," Arthur said, raising his finger to his lips in an effort to quiet the children before they accidently woke Harry up. Harry stirred for several seconds, but eventually resumed to his restless sleep.

First things first, Molly had to make sure her youngest son was okay. Ron had been through a horrific ordeal that evening, and she still hadn't been able to sit down with him to debrief and make sure he was all right. He'd been through so much in the last week alone.

"Ron, dear, are you okay?" Molly asked, rushing over and pulling him into a loving embrace.

"Yes, Mum," he said, his eyes immediately glancing over to the sleeping boy in the next bed. "How's Harry? Is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know, dear," Molly answered, peering back at the sleeping boy with deep concern.

"You mean he is going to die?" Ron whispered in horror.

"Honestly, nobody knows. It will all depend on whether or not his body can continue fighting or not," Arthur answered truthfully.

"What does that mean?" Percy asked.

"Well, he was tremendously ill and used up most of his magic, so he's extremely weak right now," Molly explained. "And his body can't keep any of the potions down, so he's in a tremendous amount of pain."

"I-I-I've never seen so much blood before," Ginny whispered, her eyes wide in fear and her face pale as she stared at Harry.

"I know, Gin," Molly said, hugging her daughter closely once more. "He's going to need a lot of patience, love, and care to recover completely. But together, we're all going to try to help him through it."

"Is he going to live with us?" Fred and George both asked excitedly, bouncing up and down on the backs of their heels in excitement.

"For the time being, he is," Arthur answered quietly.

"But he's very sick," Molly said, immediately dashing the twins' excitement. "He's not going to be able to simply wake up tomorrow and hang out with all of you. It's probably going to take him several weeks, or even months, just to physically recover from his injuries. He needs to sleep and rest as much as possible to get his strength back."

Not surprisingly, the children, with the exception of Percy, groaned in disappointment. It was obvious that they were going to have a difficult time waiting around for Harry to get well before getting to properly meet him.

"He was so scared," Ron whispered, shaking his head slowly in thought. "He was so afraid… that we were going to take him back to his aunt and uncle's…"

"I've never seen someone-" Fred began thoughtfully.

"So terrified-" George continued sadly.

"Of their family," Fred finished in concern.

"Mum, he's not going back to live with those horrible people, is he?" Ginny asked fearfully, her eyes wide in concern.

"Absolutely not," Molly said sternly before smiling reassuringly. "Let's not worry about the Dursleys right now. Madam Pomfrey said that the best thing that we can do for Harry is to make sure that he feels safe."

"Well, that's easier said than done," Fred muttered sarcastically under his breath. Molly couldn't help but secretly agree with her younger son. Based on Harry's actions this evening, they would have a lot of work to do in regards to making the young wizard feel secure and protected.

"You've had quite the day, all of you have, and it's getting late. Right now, I think your mother would agree that everyone needs to get some rest," Arthur said tiredly, leading the children out of the room.

As they said their goodnights, Molly stopped her youngest son, who had flung himself down on his bed in an exhausted heap.

"And you, young man, you're on strict orders to rest," Molly told Ron, who blushed a deep crimson red. She waved her wand towards his dresser and levitated a fresh set of pajamas onto his lap. As he fingered the pajamas thoughtfully, she walked over and pulled him into another warm embrace.

"You've been through so much this past week. You're father and I are here to listen if you need someone to talk to. If you need anything, anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask," she said, whispering gently in his ear. Ron nodded, a slight appreciative smile appearing on his face as pulled out of the embrace. Molly was relieved that he seemed a bit more reassured at her words.

"I don't think you want me in your room all night long, so you're going to need to sleep in Percy's room for the next few nights. Do you mind?" Molly asked carefully.

"Nah. He needs it more than I do," he said, leaping from his bed and jerking his head towards Harry. As he walked towards the door, he hesitated and turned back around. "Mum?"

"Yes, dear?" Molly asked as she sat back down in the chair next to Harry's bed to resume her bedside vigil.

"Do you think…" Ron began uncertainly. "Do you think everything will be okay?"

"I hope so," she whispered sadly, smoothing Harry's covers pensively. "I hope so."

The next several days were some of the most trying, emotionally, for Molly as she faithfully remained by Harry's side and continued to take care of him the best she could. He was, by far, the most ill child she had ever cared for. Harry became violently ill shortly after taking each new round of potions. Molly absolutely hated seeing him in so much discomfort as he subconsciously rolled over the side of the bed and heaved relentlessly. He always looked around the room in a hazy state of confusion after each bout of sickness, but the glazed look in his eyes told Molly that he was never actually awake enough to understand what was happening.

As a result of him being unable to keep any of the potions down, none of the potions were working like they were supposed to. He was constantly in a state of feverish pain as his body attempted to fight off lingering infections from his injuries. Whenever he was lying down, Molly kept his forehead and the back of his neck covered with a cool and wet cloth in an attempt to bring his fever down naturally. He had severe chills, yet was sweating profusely. While they cleaned his wounds and changed his bandages every four hours around the clock, the large open gash on his chest continued to bleed abundantly, and it also became severely infected. He wasn't retaining any proper nutrition, and he became severely dehydrated. While his breathing had vastly improved since his arrival, it was still very harsh and labored. His body wasn't healing as quickly as it should have been, and that was worrying everyone. Madam Pomfrey was having difficulty keeping up with it all, even with her many years of experience.

Molly was constantly by his bedside, trying to comfort him in anyway she knew how, but it was nearly impossible as nothing seemed to soothe him. He weakly moaned in anguish for hours at a time. When he wasn't crying out in pain, he frequently muttered in his sleep, and the things that he said nearly made Molly cry out in pain herself. He was very adamant about not returning to the Dursleys, desperately afraid that his aunt and uncle would kill him if he returned. Molly tried her best to reassure him that he was safe and he would be all right.

By the end of the fifth day, they were all starting to lose hope that his condition would ever improve. But on the seventh day, everything changed. He was finally able to successfully drink the Blood-Replenishing Potion, and after being administered several other healing potions at staggered times, his body began healing at a rapid pace. His fever dropped dramatically, his numerous infections finally healed, his blood levels were replenished, and his chest wound began to slowly close. He finally fell into a peaceful and seemingly serene slumber, causing everyone to be relieved that the boy had finally been given a momentary reprieve from his seemingly never-ending torment. On the ninth day, the best-case scenario finally happened: Harry Potter woke up.

 **A/N: More from Harry's POV next! I'm sorry if my chapters are too wordy or detailed… after rereading the first four chapters of this fic, I realized that's something I might need to work on (aka… NOT making it so wordy). I guess that's the downfall of working on this story for the last several months- I've had so much time to add little details to it here and there that maybe it's too much? What do you all think?**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6: Unwell

**Chapter 6: Unwell**

 _Harry was back in his cupboard at Number 4 Privet Drive. His three-year-old self was sobbing in terror as he desperately banged his fists against the closed door. He had been locked inside his cupboard again, and he was frantically trying to get out._

 _"Please, Aunt Petunia! Please let me out!" he shouted hysterically, screaming in fear as he heard another bolt of lightning crack overheard during the torrential thunderstorm. It had been storming severely for quite some time now, and he had nearly screamed his throat raw hollering for help ever since the storm began. Harry hated storms. He was absolutely terrified of them, as any other typical three-year-old would rightfully be. To make matters worse, he couldn't see anything around him as his cupboard was shrouded in complete darkness, making the entire experience even more frightening for Harry. "Please!"_

 _"Shut up, you worthless brat!" his aunt's malicious voice came streaming through the other side of the door. Harry flinched in terror as she slammed the door with her fist in an attempt to get him to stop screaming. She had been standing right outside of his cupboard the entire time. "I've had enough of your whining for the night! Stop this nonsense right now!"_

 _"But I-I-I'm s-scared!" Harry cried, more tears falling down his face as he continued to beat against the door in a frantic attempt to get out. "Please, Aunt Petunia! Please let me out!"_

 _"Keep it up, you useless freak, and I won't let you out for the rest of the week!" his aunt continued nastily. "I'm trying to sleep! If you wake up my Duddikins, I swear-"_

 _"I promise I won't do anything, Aunt Petunia! I promise I'll be good," Harry desperately implored, but his pleads for help were abruptly cut off as the door to the cupboard suddenly slammed open. Aunt Petunia's tall menacing figure stood in the doorway as the light from the hallway cascaded through the tiny cupboard. Harry immediately gasped in fright. As her face was set in a pure rage, she was holding her iron frying pan up in the air in a threatening manner._

 _"I said, shut up!" she yelled, swinging the frying pan at his head and hitting Harry quite hard in the cheek. The force of impact caused him to fly backwards onto his cot, left momentarily in shock by the abrupt force of the impact. He slowly raised his right hand to touch his now throbbing and quickly swelling cheek. That was the first time his aunt had truly hit him, at least that he could remember, and it had hurt tremendously. He sniffled several times as silent tears continued to run down his face, though now for a much different reason than simply being terrified of the storm._

 _"I'll do it again," his aunt whispered sinisterly as she raised her frying pan once more threateningly. "One more word, boy, I dare you."_

 _Harry quickly backed up against the wall, terrified his aunt would hurt him again with her frying pan, but they were both quickly distracted by another three-year-old boy's cries for help._

 _It was his cousin Dudley. The storm had also woken him up and now he was screaming in terror as well._

 _"Dudley? Duddikins? Are you okay?" Aunt Petunia hollered up the stairs, her voice suddenly full of immense concern. The way she talked to Dudley was completely different than how she had just spoken to Harry. Her voice was gentle and kind, compared to her apathetic and uncaring attitude towards Harry just seconds earlier._

 _"I'm scared, Mummy," Dudley's terrified voice came streaming down the stairs as a three-year-old Dudley peered over the top of the staircase. "The storm is so scary! Please hold me!"_

 _"I'm coming, Sweetums! Just hold on! Mummy's coming!" His aunt slammed the cupboard door shut, and Harry was once more shrouded in complete darkness once again. He heard the loud clicking noise of the lock, signaling to him that he was locked back inside the cupboard once more. Harry listened intently as his aunt's footsteps frantically ran up the stairs. She had gone to comfort Dudley in the storm._

 _Harry pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his knees, and sobbed tears of terror. His entire body was shivering in absolute fright, as the horrendous thunderstorm raged on above him. He wished he had someone to hold on to, like Dudley always did. He wished he had someone to comfort him, like his aunt comforted his cousin. But he had no one. He was all alone. He was always alone._

Screaming. Yelling. Crying.

Harry was only hazily aware of his surroundings as the faint voices from above him slowly brought him back to consciousness. The first thing he noticed was that it was sweltering hot. For some reason, everything around him was extremely, uncomfortably warm. The second thing he noticed was that, oddly enough, he wasn't in any pain at the current moment. In fact, he couldn't feel _anything_. He couldn't feel his arms. He couldn't feel his legs. He couldn't even feel his fingers. His entire body felt numb. _Weird_ , he thought.

He opened his mouth to take a deep breath, but he accidentally swallowed a lot of thick smoke and dust, causing him to break out into a hacking coughing fit. Regaining what little breath he had left in him, he blinked several times, yet he had difficultly seeing past the flashes of orange light that were obstructing his vision. It took him several seconds to realize that the flashes of orange he saw nearby were actually small fires that had broken out in the wreckage. _That's why it's so hot_ , he thought, suddenly horrified as he realized the flames were gradually creeping closer towards him. He tried to inch away from the flames, but his attempts were in vain as he still couldn't move. As the dust and floating debris began to settle around him, Harry realized with alarm why he couldn't move or feel anything… he was currently pinned under large piles of concrete and bricks, all of which came from the surrounding buildings. He must have been trapped underneath the rubble from the explosion!

"…Harry?" he heard two voices frantically shouting his name through the wreckage. The voices seemed so far away. "Harry Potter?"

Harry didn't know what to do. Should he just ignore the voices and hope that they would go away? Hope that he'd be able to find his way out of this mess all by himself somehow? Hope that by some miraculous reason he wasn't burned alive right then and there? He had been quite successful trying to get out of tricky situations so far in his short thirteen years, so this time wasn't any different, right?

Or, on the other hand, should he call back to the voices, to let him that he was there? To let them know that he was still alive and needed their help after all?

 _Stop fooling yourself_ , he thought miserably as flashes of the bricks and debris falling down on him only moments before flickered before his eyes. _There was no way out of this mess. He was doomed._

"Just hold on, Harry! Help is on the way!" a woman's frantic voice called out. He realized it was the same woman who had been trying to help him before the explosion. _Good, the explosion didn't kill her after all_ , he mused to himself, breathing a sigh of relief that at least one less person was dead because of his reckless carelessness that night. How many others were killed or trapped by the rubble because he was unable to control his abnormal talents? He was afraid to find out.

 _"You're a freak,"_ his uncle's menacing voice whispered in his head once again. _"If you're smart, boy, you'll stay quiet. Let them think you're dead. This world will be a much better place with you out of it!"_

At that current moment, Harry couldn't help but wonder if his uncle was right. Why should he even bother trying to get himself out of this mess? What was the point of staying alive, anyway? He had no life that was worth living. He had no home that he could call his own. He had no family that loved him. He had no friends that cared about him. In all honesty, he had no future. He had nothing to look forward to in the coming years except never-ending despair and misery. His prospects were bleak and hopeless, so what was the point of trying to survive this?

"It's okay, Harry! We're coming!" a man's voice shouted from above the ruins. _Well, that makes two less people killed due to my stupidity today_ , he corrected himself sarcastically. He hoped at least the red-haired boy who he had tried to help save from the gang earlier was okay… if not, all of this turmoil would have been for nothing. "Please just hold on!"

As the man's words began to gradually sink in, Harry became confused. Who would bother risking their own life to get him out of this mess? He knew the answer right away: no one. No one had ever bothered helping him before, and this time wouldn't be any different. Hoping that someone would rescue him from his current life-threatening predicament was wishful thinking. " _Nobody cares about you,"_ his aunt's tormenting voice reminded him in his ear. _"You're a horrible dirty little brat!"_ No one had ever cared about him before, so why would they start caring now?

He was going to die right here, right now, because of his complete and utter lack of self-control. After every horrible thing that had happened that night because of his carelessness, maybe he deserved it.

"Just a few more seconds, Harry, and we'll have you out of there!" the male voice shouted again. Harry noticed that the man's voice was more flustered than before, as if he was anxious about something.

He heard commotion from somewhere above him as flashes of light streamed through the rubble. Harry's breath hitched in disbelief as he realized what was happening. Everything was being cleared away. He couldn't believe it. In fact, if Harry wasn't already having difficulty seeing clearly, he'd almost say that the bricks and debris around him were simply flying back into their proper places, but he knew that was complete nonsense, so he pushed that thought out of his mind.

"Please be alive," he heard the woman cry out in anguish as the rubble around him continued to mysteriously vanish, causing more blinding light to filter through the openings in the wreckage. They really were coming for him! They really were going to rescue him!

But as the reality of what would happen after he was saved began to sink in, his hopeful optimism was dashed as fear and anxiety immediately overtook him. The thought of going back to the Dursleys was overwhelming him, crushing him, and ultimately breaking him. He was scared. He was terrified. What would happen to him once they cleared all of the bricks and debris away? How soon would he be sent back to the Dursleys, to face his almost certain death? His relatives were going to kill him. He just knew it. Of course, he wouldn't put it past his Uncle Vernon to at least throw some kicks and punches at him before he killed him, and he was sure his Aunt Petunia would get a thrill out of throwing her all-too-familiar large iron frying pan at him a few times as well, but how much longer would Harry have to put up with the torture before it all stopped once and for all?

More screaming. More crying. More yelling. Then nothingness.

 _A four-year-old Harry fell to the ground with a thunderous crash. He looked up in absolute fear. He was currently in the living room of Number 4 Privet Drive. His uncle was towering over him in a rage of fury. "I-I-I'm s-s-sorry, Uncle Vernon! I-I-I d-d-didn't mean to!"_

 _"You didn't mean to?" his uncle repeated in a threatening tone, stepping closer towards Harry in a menacing way._

 _"I-I-it was an a-a-accident," Harry cried, instinctively raising his arms to shield his body as his uncle stepped towards him, but he was too late. His uncle kicked him quite hard in the ribs._

 _"It was an accident?" Uncle Vernon roared heatedly._

 _"Y-y-yes, U-U-Uncle Vernon," Harry stammered, whimpering in pain as he clutched his ribs in pain, but he was cut off as his uncle viciously kicked him in the ribs once more. This time, however, the hand that had been covering his ribs received most of the impact, causing a strange popping noise as two of his fingers instantaneously broke. Harry gasped in terror._

 _"Stealing food was an accident?" his uncle continued to roar, seemingly unconcerned that he had injured his four-year-old nephew._

 _"I d-d-didn't s-s-steal it! D-D-Dudley threw it a-away!" Harry replied honestly, panting in between short breaths. "I-I-I t-t-took it from the trash can outside!"_

 _"You stole it from my trashcan!" Uncle Vernon corrected him viciously, glaring at him with a look of pure hatred as Harry continued to lie on the floor doubled over in pain. "You're a thief, you filthy freak!"_

 _Without warning, his uncle began attacking Harry in a treacherous rage, kicking him over and over again as hard as he could. Once, twice, three times, four times, five times… Harry lost count after the tenth kick. Harry frantically begged his uncle to stop, but his desperate pleas went unnoticed. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for the brutal beating to end, but it continued on and on for several minutes. Finally, after what seemed like hours, his uncle finally stopped. Harry lied on the floor in absolute misery, gasping for air as he clutched his sore and aching ribs. He wasn't sure he would be able to get up on his own. He was terrified of what his uncle would do to him next._

 _"Apologize to your uncle for your rudeness," Aunt Petunia snapped as she entered the living room, choosing to do absolutely nothing about what her husband just did to Harry._

 _"I-I-I'm sorry! I w-w-was h-hungry!" Harry whimpered, tears falling down his face as he continued to clutch his ribs in anguish. He was hurt pretty badly. Unbeknownst to Harry, however, his uncle had broken several of his ribs. "I-I-I h-haven't eaten i-in s-s-so l-long!"_

 _"You ungrateful brat! We feed you! We water you! We give you the clothes off our backs! And you appreciate absolutely none of it!" Aunt Petunia screeched hatefully._

 _"N-n-no, Aunt P-Petunia! I-I-I do appreciate it! I really do!" Harry pleaded hysterically._

 _Why didn't they understand how hungry and desperate he had been when he had decided to take his cousin's half-eaten apple that had been discarded out of the trashcan? Why couldn't they comprehend that a piece of cheese and a glass of water wasn't enough for him to survive on everyday? Didn't they realize how hungry and thirsty he was all of the time lately?_

 _"We'll see about that," Uncle Vernon growled threateningly._

 _Harry cried out in pain once again as his uncle continued kicking him. He tried protecting his stomach the best he could, but the moment he lowered his arms, his uncle began kicking him in the face, so he couldn't do much to protect himself. He eventually blacked out after several minutes._

 _When he woke up again several hours later, he was back in his dark cupboard. Someone had carried him back to his cot without him realizing it. He couldn't move. He struggled to breathe, requiring himself to take short gasps to steady his breathing. His stomach hurt tremendously, and his head throbbed miserably against his skull. He raised his hand and could feel his heavily swollen and bruised cheek from where his uncle had kicked him in the face. He felt completely miserable._

 _He heard thunderous pounding on the door. Someone had been shouting something at him for several minutes now, though Harry had only just realized it._

 _"I said, wake up, you idiotic boy!" his aunt's fuming voice came streaming through the door as her words finally began to make sense to Harry. "I know you can hear me! Get off your lazy bum and get out here right now! The table needs cleared, the dishes need washed, and the kitchen floor needs a good scrubbing. Up, NOW!"_

 _Harry cringed. He knew he would be in even worse trouble if he didn't obey his aunt's orders, and he didn't want to make his relatives any angrier than they already were. Obligingly, Harry swung his legs over his cot and unsteadily got to his feet, swaying dangerously and wincing in severe pain as every bone and muscle throbbed in agony. It would be an extremely long day._

Pain. Intense and unbearable pain.

As he returned weakly to yet another faint state of dim awareness, he couldn't help the intense screams of anguish that escaped him as he realized the intense amount of pain and agony that he was really in. He was shaking in excruciating pain. Every single part of his body ached, throbbed, and hurt, though he still couldn't move his arms or legs at all. Because of the pain, his breathing was even more erratic and jagged than it had ever been in his entire life. He didn't know if he was going to be able to survive this. Knowing that he was basically going to be handed over to the Dursleys after this, he didn't know if he even wanted to.

 _Flashes of bright light... fuzzy figures moving in and out of view…. frantic voices yelling all around him…_ Harry slowly blinked several times in an attempt to see what was happening, but he couldn't see anything except hazy blurs. There were so many people shouting words and phrases so quickly that he couldn't understand what any of them were saying.

"Harry?" a familiar woman's voice ran through his ears. He held his breath and clenched his fists, straining his ears to understand her words. "Everything is going to be okay, dear. Just stay with us, please."

 _Where had he heard that voice? Her voice sounded so soothing and gentle, kind and caring. Wait… was it her? Was his mother really here?_ Maybe he was dying after all? Maybe when it was all over once and for all, he'd ultimately get to see his Mum and Dad? Maybe he'd finally learn their names that he'd been so desperate to know?

 _At least the Dursleys will finally get their wish_ , he thought morbidly. _They always said they wanted me dead._

"Mum?" Harry cried out, knowing he'd heard that voice from somewhere. He wanted so badly for this woman to keep talking to him. She made him feel so calm. "Mum?"

"You're safe now, Harry," the same gentle voice spoke, though Harry could hear a crack of emotion in her voice. Had he upset her?

Harry began to feel extremely anxious and apprehensive, as his vision wasn't improving any and he still couldn't see anything except flickers of light moving in and out of his vision. Once again, several pairs of hands were touching him all over the place, though this time, he was too injured and ill that he couldn't get them to stop. Desperate thoughts were running wildly through Harry's mind as he tried to prepare himself for the worst: What were these people doing to him? Were they going to hurt him? Were they going to torture him? Were they going to kill him after all? After everything he had just been through, were they going to finish him off?

"Madam Pomfrey, can't you do anything to help him? He's in so much pain. Please make it stop!" the woman's voice cried from somewhere above him. _That's it_ , he thought idly as the woman's words pierced his brain. They were going to kill him after all.

"Please…" he moaned weakly, desperately hoping they'd listen to his pleas to leave him alone. "Please… don't…"

"Severus, get the Pain-Relieving Potion out of my bag," the woman called Madam Pomfrey said urgently. _Potion?_ Harry thought worriedly, befuddled as to what the woman was talking about. He'd only ever heard the word used before in fairy tales that he had read in school. Whatever this potion was that the woman was talking about, however, couldn't be good.

"Please…" Harry repeated, trying yet failing to make them understand. He really didn't want to die… not right now… not here… not in front of all of these people…. Couldn't they just take him away and let him die on his own?

Harry's eyes widened in a wild panic as he realized someone had pressed a cup to his lips and was trying to force a drink of some sort down his throat. They were going to poison him! They really were going to kill him after all!

"N-n-no," he moaned in fright, trying with all his might to lift his hand to knock the cup away yet remarkably failing at the simple task as his hand continued to lie limply at his side. "Please… p-please… d-d-don't hurt me."

"Harry, we're not going to hurt you," Madam Pomfrey spoke seemingly reassuringly, yet nothing was comforting about it to Harry. He knew better than to trust what others said. Nobody ever told him the truth. "We want to help you."

"P-please," he gasped in terror, years of unshed tears pouring down his face quickly as he continued to panic. "Please d-don't k-k-kill me…"

"Harry, my dear boy," a much older, unfamiliar male voice said quietly somewhere to his right. "We're not going to kill you. We're just trying to help you."

"P-poison," Harry stammered, voicing his fears aloud, albeit awkwardly. "No… p-poison…"

"He thinks we're poisoning him!" the same familiar woman's voice gasped fearfully. There was a silent pause as all of the voices suddenly went quiet. Then, Madam Pomfrey's voice spoke.

"Harry, this is medicine that will help you feel better," Madam Pomfrey said clearly, finally using language he would understand. "Have you ever taken medicine before?"

At the mention of the word, a flicker of a dreadful childhood memory flashed before his eyes. _Aunt Petunia was giving his four-year-old self a glass of mysterious liquid. He drank it eagerly, unaware of its harmful contents. Within minutes, however, he was lying on the bathroom floor, clutching his ribs as his stomach clenched and twisted in pure agony. His aunt was standing over him in a considerable rage, shaking her head in annoyance and disappointment that the 'medicine' wasn't working as it was intended to. He was still alive after all._

"Harry?" Madam Pomfrey spoke again, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. "We know you're in a lot of pain. We're going to give you some medicine that will stop all the pain that you're in."

"P-p-please," Harry said, as a renewed round of desperation fired up in him. He felt like he was fighting an uphill battle with these people, yet losing tremendously. "D-don't take me back. Please don't take me back to the D-Dursleys. They'll k-kill me. Please, please d-don't!"

"Harry," several voices began, but Harry was no longer listening. He was sure they were going to take him back to the Dursleys.

"They'll kill me! They've already tried! Please don't s-send me back!" Harry pleaded desperately, his eyes wide with fear.

"His vitals are getting worse. We're going to lose him if we can't get him under control," Madam Pomfrey said urgently. "Severus, please help me administer the sleeping draught!"

"I'm sorry! I'm s-so s-s-sorry! I d-didn't mean to h-hurt anyone! It was a-an a-accident! Please d-don't take me back!" Harry cried frantically, pleading with anyone who would listen to him.

The mysterious cup was once again pressed up to his lips. He fought against it with every ounce of energy that he could muster, but there was nothing he could do as he felt someone gently massaging his throat, forcing him to swallow the entire contents of the cup in one gulp.

The immediate consequences were disastrous. Within moments, he felt a warming sensation flow through his veins, causing him to become instantaneously ill. He instinctively rolled over onto his side, violently retching in desperation. Distorted faces swam before his eyes as several blurry figures knelt down in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and supporting his weight to prevent him from falling off of the couch entirely.

"It's okay, Harry," someone said softly.

"We've got you," another voice stated gently.

"We're not going to let you fall. You're safe," a third voice said.

As his nausea worsened and he continued to violently retch, he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Harry didn't understand. What was happening to him? What was going on? Were they trying to kill him? Was this his punishment for blowing up that red-haired family- dying a slow and painful death after being forced to drink what he assumed was poison? But if that was the case, why were they helping him right now? Why were these people being so… _gentle_ … with him? They could have let him fall off the couch, which would have hurt immensely, yet they were still holding him up by his shoulders as he continued to get sick. Someone was even rubbing circles on his back. Harry had once seen his Aunt Petunia do this for Dudley when he was sick in an attempt to comfort the boy, but for Harry, who automatically associated any human touch with intense pain and heartache, this had the opposite effect and only made him even sicker.

He didn't know how much time passed by, as he remained in that uncomfortable position and his stomach continued to reject the 'potion' that he had been forced to drink. After a few minutes, he heard shouting and panicked voices once again as the blurry faces continued to swim in and out of focus in front of him. They were trying to talk to him and attempting to gain his attention, but Harry could no longer understand what they were saying. He was gasping for air, utterly confused by the chaos happening in front of him, before his eyes rolled backwards and his world was pitched into complete darkness once more.

 _Harry blinked. He couldn't really see anything around him as there was no source of light in the room. He blinked again. Looking around, he noticed he was back in his cupboard once more. He reached out to open the door, but like always, it was locked. He couldn't get out._

 _"Aunt Petunia?" he called worriedly after shaking the handle in vain several times. "Can I come out now please?"_

 _No answer._

 _"Uncle Vernon?" he asked, hoping he'd at least get a grunt in return. "Can you help me please?"_

 _No answer._

 _"Dudley?" he hollered anxiously._

 _Again, no answer._

 _No one was home._

 _For Harry, this wasn't exactly unusual. Besides the exception of completing his outdoor chores and duties, he was rarely ever allowed to venture outside, which meant that he hardly ever accompanied the family on short trips to the grocery store or shopping mall. Whenever his relatives left the house to run errands, they would typically lock Harry up in his small cupboard to make sure he didn't break anything while they were gone._

 _This time, however, was different. Harry waited for hours, lying patiently on his cot, drifting in and out of sleep while he waited for his aunt and uncle to return home. Every once in a while he shouted for help, hoping he simply hadn't heard his relatives walk in, but it was all for nothing. They never came back. Where were they?_

 _He wouldn't find out for six long days._

 _"You idiot!" a voice bellowed abruptly in his ear. He slowly opened his eyes and stared at the dark outline of his uncle's figure. It was difficult to see. Everything was blurry. He was so very hungry and thirsty. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink for six days, and it had made him very ill. He looked down and realized in horror that despite his wholehearted efforts to 'hold it,' he had inadvertently made a mess on his clothes, his sheets, and the floor beneath him. "You worthless freak! You couldn't hold it?"_

 _"I-I tried, Uncle Vernon," he rasped, his throat extremely sore from lack of water. Tears of shame and embarrassment welled up in his eyes as he inwardly scolded his four-year-old self for not being able to hold it after all. "I-I r-really tried. B-but you were g-gone for days…. and I-I was l-locked in here… and it r-really h-hurt to hold it… I c-couldn't help it… it was an a-accident… I'm s-s-sorry!"_

 _"Sorry? Oh, you'll be sorry when I'm done with you! Clean up that mess right now, all of it! And meet me in the living room when you're done. I'll show you what happens when you can't bother to use the toilet like a normal human being!" his uncle raged. Harry cringed in anxiousness. His uncle was going to beat him relentlessly for his latest mistake._

 _"Please, Uncle Vernon, I'm sorry! Please forgive me!" he cried as his uncle walked out of the doorframe, ignoring his pleas. His aunt instantly appeared at the door holding a bucket of bleach and a rag._

 _"You disgusting animal! You filthy thing! Clean this up!" she screamed at him angrily, soaking the cloth in the bleach and throwing it at his face without ringing the washcloth out first. Harry screamed in anguish as the bleach-covered cloth hit him directly between the eyes, burning his eyes instantly._

 _"Please, Aunt Petunia, please h-help me!" he wailed in agony, rubbing his eyes fiercely as he tried to get the burning bleach out of his eyes. Unbeknownst to him, this was the absolute worst thing he could have done, as it only made the injury worse._

 _"You're pathetic!" he heard his aunt yell at him cruelly as he blindly ran for the bathroom across the hall to flush out his burning eyes. He couldn't stop the tears that were freely streaming down his face. His eyes were stinging so painfully._

 _Ten minutes later, after holding his face under the faucet for so long, he could hear his aunt's voice raging once more as she accosted him in the bathroom._

 _"You lazy insolent boy! What have you been doing this entire time?" she shrieked hatefully._

 _"M-my e-eyes h-hurt," he mumbled sadly, wincing in pain as his eyes throbbed mercilessly._

 _"Nothing is wrong with you!" his aunt screamed. She lunged towards him and grabbed his shirt by the collar, dragging him out of the bathroom and back into the cupboard. "Change out of those filthy clothes and clean this mess up right now!"_

 _Harry immediately obliged, quickly setting off to work as he tried to keep his aunt happy. He couldn't help the feeling of hopelessness that began to wash over him, however, as nothing he ever did pleased his aunt. He spent hours scrubbing the entire cupboard clean from top to bottom in an effort to make his aunt and uncle happy._

 _As he returned from throwing the soiled sheets into the washer, he realized his cot had disappeared. He secretly began to get excited. Was he moving to a new room? Was he getting Dudley's second room after all? Was he finally getting a new bed?_

 _"Of course not, you spoiled brat," his aunt sneered when he politely asked her about it. "You have to earn it back. Until then, you can sleep on the floor like the filthy little mutt you are. Now go see your uncle for your punishment."_

 _That night was the first time Harry ever slept on the floor of his cupboard. It was extremely cold, as his aunt had refused to give him any type of bedding for fear of him ruining it once more. A large spider crept along on the floor, and Harry shivered in fright as it crawled up his leg and chest. Needless to say, he didn't sleep well that night. Unbeknownst to him, it would be years before he earned the right to sleep on his cot again._

He was exhausted. He was tired. He'd never felt so groggy and sleepy in his entire life. As Harry gradually began to wake from his deep slumber, he fought to stay awake. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt like they were glued shut. He tried to move every other part of his body, but again, everything was too heavy. He didn't know where he was. He couldn't even remember how he got there. All he knew was that he was tired. He desperately wanted to go back to sleep.

As if realizing he was awake, a soft pair of hands gently lifted his head. He was suddenly aware of a cup being pressed to his lips. He weakly moaned and tried to shake his head in an attempt to avoid drinking whatever it was that was in the cup, but he didn't have the strength to even move his head.

"It's okay, Harry," a soft voice said from somewhere above him. "You're safe. You've been very sick, and you were really hurt, but it's going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay."

Harry moaned again, protesting against the warm liquid that was now seeping through his lips.

"Shh…" the voice cooed soothingly. Fingers were now very gently rubbing his throat in a successful attempt to force him to swallow the liquid. "You need to sleep, Harry. This potion is going to help you sleep."

 _Potion?_ Harry barely had time to register the strange word before fogginess enveloped his brain and he drifted back to sleep.

The same thing happened the next several times he woke up. He'd barely stir, and then someone would lift his head, put a glass to his lips, and force him back into a deep sleep by making him drink some sort of mysterious liquid. He wanted to resist each time, but found he didn't have the energy or strength to fight back. He continued to drift in between a state of dreamless sleep and semi-consciousness, unaware of time slowly passing by. It was extremely peaceful. Finally, after the tenth time of regaining consciousness, Harry was able to stay awake long enough to get a bearing of his surroundings.

 **A/N: More from Harry's POV in the next chapter, which will pick up right where I left off. Sorry for taking so long to post this one. On the flip side, the next chapter is almost complete. Thank you so much for all of the kind reviews! I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it!**


	7. Chapter 7: Waking Up

**A/N: I am sooooo sorry that it took so long to post this chapter! I had it completed two weeks ago, but then I wanted to sit on it for a week to make sure I liked it and that everything was perfect, and then I realized I wanted to make some changes, which took much longer than I thought it would take. I feel like I've read this chapter at least a hundred times now, trying to make it flow all together. I hope you like it.**

 **On the flip side, this chapter was so long (over 10,000 words) that the website wouldn't let me upload it all at once… so, here is the first part. Please read and let me know what you think! Thanks!**

 **Chapter 7: Waking Up**

As Harry regained consciousness, he was aware that he was lying on something… _soft_. He frowned in bewilderment as he realized he was lying on a bed. At least, he presumed it was a bed. He'd never actually slept on a proper bed before (he didn't consider his stiff tiny cot at the Dursleys' a bed at all), but he was currently lying on something extremely soft, fluffy, and comfortable... all words that were extremely unfamiliar to him. Without a doubt, it was the most comfortable bed that he had ever woken up in.

He felt… _simply amazing_. Well, his chest did still hurt quite a bit, and he felt extremely drowsy and groggy, but otherwise, he felt perfectly fine. His body wasn't in excruciating pain like it had been immediately prior to the blast and in the hours (and unbeknownst to Harry, days) afterwards. In fact, with the exception of his chest, nothing hurt. _Wow_ , he thought impressively. He took a deep breath and was amazed by how easy the simple act of breathing was for him; something that he hadn't been able to do without pain for months. Right now, he felt the best he had ever felt in his entire life.

 _So they didn't poison me after all_ , he concluded shockingly, impressed that the strangers had actually kept their word. He vaguely remembered barely waking up the last few times and being forced to drink some sort of mysterious liquid, causing him to fall back to sleep each time. At the time, he had been convinced that the adults were attempting to poison him, even though they had tried to reassure him otherwise; however, considering how well he currently felt, he had to admit that they really may have given him medicine that somehow miraculously eased his pain after all. He was still baffled as to why those people helped him out in the first place, as he had done nothing to deserve their assistance and he certainly wasn't worthy of any of it. However, Harry had more important matters to think about right now, so he decided to think about that later.

Instead, he turned back to the task at hand: figuring out a way to get himself out of this disastrous mess so that he could get away from these people and return to his familiar life on the run. Even though Harry didn't particularly look forward to spending the rest of his teenage life living alone on the streets of London, it was the only life he knew that had provided him with some sense of comfort and safety. Compared to his daily encounters of torment, anguish, and cruelty while living with the Dursleys, he felt relatively safe living on his own in London. He was able to make his own rules, choose where he wanted to sleep each night, work on his own schedule, and live life the way he wanted to- which included avoiding people at all costs. Harry didn't feel comfortable or safe being around others, considering how terrible his relatives and classmates had treated him, so he needed to escape his current predicament as soon as possible.

He slightly moved his fingers to the right in an attempt to feel around and check out his surroundings. He could feel that he was definitely lying on a mattress that had sheets on it. He could also tell that a heavy blanket was on top of him, and it was so warm and welcoming that Harry nearly dozed off again just relishing in its warmth. He had never slept under a proper blanket before. The Dursleys had always just given him a raggedy old towel to sleep with. _Stop it_ , _Harry,_ he told himself, as he began to get lost in his memories again. _Focus. You need to get yourself out of here. Run away before anyone comes back. Get yourself out of here before anyone has time to stop you._

Daringly, he slowly tried to move his right arm. Surprisingly, it moved. Feeling bold, he gradually tried to move his left arm. Again, it moved. He tried moving both of his legs, and to his great astonishment, they also moved on demand. _Odd_ , he mused perplexingly. He thought he had broken them in the blast… or the attack… though he couldn't be sure of which… unless… had he dreamed the entire thing? Had all of this been a terrible nightmare?

"Harry?" a soft voice came from somewhere above him. It was the same woman's voice that he'd been hearing the last several times he had woken up. He obviously wasn't dreaming after all. "Harry, dear? Are you awake?"

Harry froze, desperately praying the woman wouldn't realize he was awake after all. She'd make him sleep again, and while it actually felt really good to get caught up on so much rest, he didn't want to do that right now. He wanted to stay awake. He needed to figure out what had happened to him after the blast. He needed to know where he was and how much time had passed since the incident, and most importantly, he needed to plot his escape to get out of there as quickly as possible.

There was silence in the room as the woman awaited a response from Harry, but Harry gave none in return. He continued to lie silent and still, pretending to be asleep. After a few moments, however, Harry heard the sound of a door click quietly open as someone else entered the room.

"How is he, Molly? How's Harry?" a familiar male voice said as footsteps approached his bed.

Harry's heart immediately started pounding in fear. Two adults were now in the same room as him, not far from where he was lying, and there was nothing he could do but lie still and pretend to be asleep. He was suddenly extremely anxious and nervous. What were they going to do? Based on his previous experiences with his aunt and uncle, he had a basic idea of what the adults might do to him, but he desperately hoped he was proven wrong. Harry strained his ears, listening for any words that would signal he was in danger.

"About the same," Molly answered sadly. "I'm really worried, Arthur. It's been a week and a half now, and he still hasn't really woken up."

"He will, dear, don't worry," Arthur responded gently. "Remember what Madam Pomfrey said? He needs as much rest as possible for his body to properly heal itself."

"I know, but what if he doesn't?" Molly asked worriedly. "What if he stays like this?"

"Molly, he will wake up," Arthur said more assertively. "The worst is over. It's only been two days since the potions started working anyways. We have to give the potions time to do their jobs."

"Yes, but what if his chest is infected again? What if it's causing him to-" Molly fretted.

"Molly, it's not. His injuries are mostly healed. You told me yourself that Madam Pomfrey cleaned his chest wound just a few hours ago before she went home, and she said it was improving. Harry's fine, dear. You're worrying too much," Arthur said softly.

"I just wish he would wake up," Molly whispered nervously. "I'm so concerned-"

"He will wake up, Molly," Arthur said reassuringly. "I know he will."

Harry couldn't believe the conversation that he was overhearing. _Who were these people talking about?_

They had been talking about a boy named Harry. Were they really talking about _him?_ Surely not. There must be some other Harry that they were referring to in their conversation. The woman seemed really concerned about that boy, and the man seemed to really care about him too. His aunt and uncle typically spoke that way to each other about Dudley whenever Dudley was severely ill or injured. But these people were both talking about a chest wound on the boy, and well, his chest did hurt… maybe they really were talking about him?

But if they were talking about him, why were they doing so in such a nice way? Their voices were so calm and full of concern, something Harry was extremely unfamiliar with. In fact, if he was going to be completely honest with himself, these two people had been extremely kind to him so far. Even though his memories of the last few hours (and unknowingly to Harry, days) were foggy, he remembered their voices quite clearly, and they had been nothing but worried and gentle.

 _Nah_ , he concluded, bringing himself back to his harsh reality. His grogginess was obviously making it difficult for him to think clearly. He must have imagined it all because there was no reason whatsoever for these people to be nice or kind to him. Perhaps he would need to sleep off the drowsiness a bit more before he formulated his escape plan after all? The last thing he needed was another reckless idea getting him into even worse trouble again.

"Have you heard anything about Harry's godfather?" Molly asked, changing the subject.

"Yes, and its bad news," Arthur said grimly. "He's on an extended two-month vacation with Remus Lupin."

"Wait, he's not coming to see Harry?" Molly gasped in concern.

"Well, not exactly. According to Kingsley, Sirius left the country just hours before we found Harry, so he doesn't know actually anything about Harry's return. Nobody can track either of them down, so I'm afraid Sirius have to wait to find out about Harry until he returns."

"What terrible luck," Molly responded gloomily. "For Sirius, I mean."

"And for Harry," Arthur interjected. "Can you imagine? After everything that the two of them have been through… Harry with those horrendous relatives of his and Sirius with, well, you know… they should be together. It's only right."

"Well, at least he has us," Molly replied reassuringly. "And Harry can count on us to be there for him."

"But Sirius is Harry's godfather, Molly. When he returns, you know what's going to have to happen," Arthur warned gently.

Now Harry knew they couldn't possibly be talking about him. He scolded himself for even thinking about the childish and selfish possibility that they had been talking about him. Harry didn't have a godfather. If he did, he wouldn't have spent ten years living in hell with the Dursleys. If he had a godfather, he wouldn't have spent the last three years starving to death just trying to survive on the streets of London. The idea was simply preposterous.

"I know," Molly whispered sadly. "I know what's going to happen when Sirius returns, but I don't want to think about it. Right now, Harry's here, in our home. He is currently surrounded by people who will love him, take care of him, and help him recover until he is fully healed. He has a roof over his head, he's completely safe, and most importantly, he's away from those awful Dursleys-"

Harry, who had been so entranced in listening to their conversation, was completely caught off guard. His eyes shot wide open in fear and he gasped in utter horror at the mere mention of his relatives. More out of shock than anything, he couldn't stop himself from instinctively rolling off the side of the bed and falling to the floor with a loud crash.

This was the wrong thing to do as he landed on his stomach. His chest immediately felt as if it were once again ripped apart. He couldn't stifle his moans as he cried out in pain, quickly rolled over onto his back, and clutched his chest tightly with both hands. He gasped several times, steadying his breathing after nearly a minute of panting. When he pulled his hands away from his chest, he groaned at the sight of blood that now covered them once again. His chest wound, which apparently wasn't completely healed yet, was bleeding again. He forced himself to deal with the pain as he clenched his mouth shut, staring at the ceiling while he tried to get his emotions under control. He wasn't going to give in to the pain this time. He wasn't going to be weak. Not around these people, at least.

But his mind had other plans. As the realization that he had been discovered awake and was now trapped in a room with two grown adults sank in, Harry suddenly became very apprehensive and started panicking. His entire body began shaking uncontrollably. Sweat poured down his face. He started hyperventilating, gasping for air as he began taking quick rapid breaths. Everything around him was suddenly spinning out of control as he felt extremely dizzy and light-headed. His chest continued to wrench painfully tight, and he was so nauseous that felt like he was going to get sick again. Everything around him was devoured in blackness as he developed tunnel vision, meaning he could only see the small portion of the ceiling above him and nothing else. He was having a full-blown panic attack.

"Harry!" Molly's worried voice shouted out. He heard more footsteps rushing towards him, but thankfully, they stopped abruptly.

"Molly, no," he heard Arthur whisper urgently to Molly. "You'll scare him."

"But he's hurt," Molly cried frantically. This took Harry aback. Why did she sound so concerned? Why did she care if he was hurt or not? "He needs our help."

"Molly, _no_ ," Arthur said, more forcefully this time. "You'll make it worse."

 _Breathe_ , Harry told himself, clenching his fists tightly as he struggled to maintain his composure. He had to get himself under control quickly or something freakish would happen again. He'd had several panic attacks before, all while he was living with the Dursleys, and based off of previous experience, something bad always happened when he lost control like this. While Harry didn't know the two people standing in the room with him, he didn't want to hurt them. Therefore, he had to do everything he could to get himself under control once more.

Against his natural instincts, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He knew it would be the only way he could properly calm down, as the mere presence of the two adults in the room was enough to unnerve Harry. Instead, he blocked out the world around him and imagined that he was back at his favorite park in London, lying on the soft green grass and soaking in the warm rays of sunshine as the sounds of birds chirping in the distance filled his ears. After several minutes of practicing this relaxation technique, his breathing returned to normal, the nausea dissipated, and he stopped shaking. His chest still hurt, but Harry had a feeling that it had more to do with his actual injury than his anxiety at this point. He slowly opened his eyes and was relieved to find that his tunnel vision had also disappeared. His panic attack was over… for now, at least. Harry sighed in tremendous relief as he realized nothing freakish had happened… yet.

After another minute of steadying himself, Harry slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, preparing to defend himself against the adults if needed. If he had it his way, he would have jumped to his feet and run out of the room right then and there, but he was simply too groggy and drowsy to stand. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the dizziness, but it only seemed to make it worse. As a result, he instead settled for scooting backwards into the wall behind him. He tried to create as much space as possible between him and the two adults.

He ended up knocking against the bedside table behind him, causing him to come to a complete stop. He gasped in surprise as something black and metal fell to the floor with a loud crash. He frowned in uncertainty as he realized it was his glasses. _Where did they come from?_ He couldn't remember exactly when he had lost his glasses, but he knew he hadn't been wearing them after the blast. He was shocked and utterly astounded as he realized that the adults must have found and saved his glasses for him; the Dursleys most certainly wouldn't have been that kind towards Harry, as they would have preferred Harry being unable to see for the rest of his life than to go out of their way to pick up a simple pair of glasses off the ground. Harry hesitated at first, then he slowly reached out and picked his glasses up, noticing with even more confusion that they were no longer broken. The Scotch tape that had been literally holding the frame together in between his nosepieces was now gone, and the scratches that had littered his lenses for years and years were now nowhere to be found. It was as if his glasses were brand new again.

He couldn't believe it. Did these people fix his glasses? And if so, _why_? The Dursleys had never fixed his glasses before, even though they had always been difficult for Harry to see out of. Besides his initial eye doctor visit when he got his first pair of glasses, they never took him back to the eye doctor. As a result, Harry had always been forced to wear the same, worn down pair that Dudley and his gang enjoyed snapping in half whenever they got a chance to. The unrelenting bullies even smeared Harry's lenses particularly hard into the pavement, causing even more scratches to appear on his out-dated lenses, just so that it was always more difficult for Harry to see out of them. Yet this pair that Harry was now holding looked brand new again. They were the exact same pair that he had before, but they looked as if they had never been worn before. Why did these people fix his glasses? Did they buy him a new pair? Why would they do something so nice for someone they didn't even know? This was a strange concept for Harry, who wasn't used to this sort of treatment, so he couldn't quite wrap his head around it. His head hurt just trying to understand the novel concept.

Pushing the confusing thoughts aside for the time being, he hurriedly put his glasses on his face, bringing the world around him into clearer and sharper view.

He looked around and realized with astonishment that he was in someone's bedroom- a kid's bedroom, he presumed, by the bright orange paint that covered the bare walls. There were two twin-sized beds squeezed into the room, and there were two chairs sitting next to the bed that Harry had been lying in. The setting sun shining through the only window in the room told Harry that it must have been early evening.

He focused his attention back on the two adults standing in front of him. The man had his arms wrapped around his wife's shoulders, as if he was holding her back from ambushing Harry. Harry was secretly grateful towards the man. He'd had enough of people touching him lately, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself if they touched him again. Harry recognized both of them as the parents of that red-haired boy he had met in the alley. Both adults seemed frozen in place, with identical looks of concern on their faces. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his spot; he wasn't used to this much attention from anyone. He watched as both Molly and Arthur exchanged concerned, meaningful glances.

"Harry, dear, are you alright?" Molly asked soothingly, shrugging out of her husband's embrace, but keeping her feet planted firmly in place.

"St-stay… away," Harry mumbled, his voice extremely raspy and hoarse from lack of use. He hoped he didn't sound as pathetic as he thought he did. "Please… I don't… want to… hurt you… again."

"Harry, it's okay. You are safe here," Molly said softly, raising her hands slowly as if to show Harry that she meant him no harm.

Harry stared at the woman with immense trepidation and uneasiness. He knew better than to believe her. His Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had both played that trick on him dozens of times before. He wasn't going to fall for it this time. He tried to get to his feet and attempt to flee his current predicament, but his legs wouldn't cooperate and merely flopped around like a fish out of water. He was too weak to stand.

"No one here wants to hurt you," Arthur said quietly, also raising his hands slowly in the air to show Harry that he didn't have anything in them.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't trust these people. He didn't even know them.

 _But they fixed your glasses,_ he thought to himself _. They were nice enough to fix them for you… that means they can be trusted, right?_

Harry shook his head again, trying to reason with himself. _No._ These people were currently holding him hostage in their home. They were holding him against his will. They could not be trusted.

 _Are they, though?_ A small voice whispered in his ear. _Are they holding you hostage? Are they holding you against your will? They've been extremely nice to you so far… they saved you from that dangerous gang that was trying to kill you… they tried to help you when you were hurt, even after you nearly blew them up for touching you... they saved you from that terrible explosion- which you somehow caused- that nearly killed you… they helped fix your injuries… and they haven't left your side since…._

 _Regardless,_ he told himself, ignoring his own doubts. _Don't believe anything these people say. They're lying to you. Trust no one._

As he looked around more closely at his surroundings, he began to panic once again. He was trapped! The only way out of the bedroom was either through the door or the window, and considering the adults were standing near the door, he wouldn't be able to take the easy way out. But would he be able to survive jumping out of a window again? He wasn't sure how high up this room was, so he couldn't be too certain if he'd survive the jump or not. Should he continue trying to push his luck?

His eyes apparently lingered on the window too long because the adults took notice.

"Harry, I know what you're thinking about doing," Arthur began slowly and calmly, with a disconcerted look on his face as he stared at Harry. "Please, don't do it."

Harry frowned, slightly disheartened that the man had figured out his plan so easily. Had he been that obvious?

"You… you don't know anything about me," Harry snapped, ignoring how pathetically hoarse his voice sounded and glaring at the man in complete distrust.

"You're right, I don't, but I do have seven children, which means I have learned to trust my instincts. And right now, my instincts tell me that you're thinking about jumping out that window," Arthur continued, as calmly as Harry had ever heard a man speak.

Harry couldn't believe it. The man was right. But Harry wasn't about to let him know that.

"Please, Harry, don't do it," the man continued softly. Oddly enough, the man didn't seem angry towards Harry. He seemed more concerned than anything. Harry's scowl deepened as his confusion increased. Why did this man care about whether or not he jumped? "This room is five stories high. You'll hurt yourself if you jump out that window, and considering how ill you've been, you probably won't survive the fall."

There was an awkward silence in which Harry was inwardly scolding himself for being caught so easily. His plan was now ruined. He'd have to figure out a new way to escape… and quick.

"My name is Molly Weasley," the woman said very slowly and quietly, drawing Harry's attention away from the window and back to the adults standing in front of him. "This is my husband, Arthur Weasley."

Harry eyed the two adults suspiciously. What were their true intentions at that particular moment? What did they want from him?

"We found you nine days ago lying in an alley critically injured," Mr. Weasley started.

Harry narrowed his eyes and shook his head once again in disbelief. _Nine days? It had been nine days since the accident? But where had the time gone?_

"You were severely injured while saving our son's life, Harry," Mrs. Weasley explained calmly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "So we brought you back here, to our house, to help you recover from those injuries. My family and I have been caring for you ever since. You've been very ill, Harry."

Harry continued to shake his head in disagreement. If these people were telling the truth, then according to them, he must have slept the nine days away. Yet, he didn't feel like he'd been asleep for that long, so the idea was simply impossible. And besides, how could his injuries have been healed so quickly? He knew, without a doubt now, that he'd broken a lot of bones in the explosion. How could his injuries have miraculously healed in nine days? And why wasn't he in a hospital, after all? While he wasn't a doctor, he knew he'd been in pretty bad shape. He should be in a hospital right now, not some stranger's house. These people were obviously lying to him. How stupid did they think he was? Did they really think he'd believe them?

Slowly, the woman pulled a white cloth out of her apron and held it out to Harry. Not realizing that she was simply offering it to him in an effort to help, Harry flinched violently and covered his face with his arms, preparing himself for the blow that would surely come.

"Harry, I'm not going to hurt you," Mrs. Weasley whispered worriedly, her outstretched hand now shaking nervously.

The white cloth slipped out of the woman's hands and fluttered to the ground, landing right in front of Harry. Still glaring at the woman distrustfully, Harry refused to pick it up while maintaining his defensive position.

"Harry, you're bleeding," she said, her voice cracking with emotion as silent tears slipped down her face.

Harry's heart began pounding furiously as his eyes widened in apprehension. Did he make her cry? He hadn't meant to make her cry. That was the last thing he wanted to do. While he didn't trust the woman and was fearful of her true intentions with him, he wasn't a hateful person. He didn't want to hurt her, and he certainly didn't mean to.

"I just want to help you, dear. You're hurt, and I want to help you feel better," Mrs. Weasley continued desperately, sniffling back tears.

Confused, he very slowly lowered his arms, his glare turning into a look of uncertainty as he tried to figure out what these people really wanted to do with him. The more he thought about it, however, the more baffled he became. These people hadn't actually done anything to physically hurt him… yet. Yeah, they'd obviously drugged him and forced various liquids down his throat against his will, but so far, there hadn't seemed to be any lasting damage from their actions. In fact, as Harry continued to think about it, it was quite the opposite. Harry had hurt both of them and their family on at least two different occasions by blasting them away from him back in the alley. Yet, even after both of those unfortunate incidents, they hadn't actually laid a single hand on him except to try and help him. And somehow, they had miraculously healed his numerous injuries and cured his wretched illness that he had been trying to get rid of for months.

Was she telling him the truth? Did she really care about him? Did she really want to help him? Should he trust her?

 _No_ , he reminded himself. _Trust no one. That's the only way you'll get yourself out of this situation. It's the only way you'll survive._

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley whispered, tears continuing to fall down her cheeks as she attempted to maintain her composure. Her reassuring smile was faltering. "Please let us help."

Harry shook his head stubbornly. No, he wouldn't let them help him. They were tricking him. All of this was one sick joke. The Dursleys were probably getting one hell of a kick out of it. He had to figure out a way out of here. He began glancing around the room again for anything that would help him find a way out of his current predicament, but it was all in vain. There was nothing in the room that would help him escape, and considering he couldn't even stand at this point, he was doomed.

"Are you thirsty, dear?" Molly asked, as she slowly picked up a glass off the nightstand.

Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion. What was she doing with the glass of water? Was she going to throw the water on Harry, or worse, throw the actual glass at him? Aunt Petunia surely would have, as she'd done it many times before. He mentally prepared himself for the oncoming assault, just in case.

Instead, the woman held the glass out towards him and asked Harry something he'd never been asked before: "Would you like some water, Harry?"

Harry gasped in surprise and slowly frowned in confusion. So she wasn't going to hurt him after all? Was this really happening? Was this woman really offering him a glass of water? No one had ever been that kind towards Harry before. In fact, he couldn't remember ever being asked this sort of question before.

Harry was quite thirsty, now that she mentioned it. His throat was quite hoarse and felt extremely dry, as if he hadn't had anything to drink in weeks. However, he reminded himself, he didn't trust this woman. She was the one responsible for making him sleep so much lately. Knowing this, she was probably simply tricking him in an attempt to get him to go back to sleep.

"Harry, it's just water," Molly said reassuringly, as if noticing the look of complete distrust in Harry's eyes. "I haven't done anything to it, if that's what you're thinking. It's completely safe to drink."

Harry eyed the glass a bit longer before shaking his head in response. He couldn't trust her, no matter what she said or did.

"Well, how about some food, then? I daresay it's been awhile since you've last eaten anything?" she asked gently, placing the glass of water back down on the nightstand and picking up the bowl that was sitting next to it. Hot steam was rising from the bowl, signaling that the bowl's contents were hot. "I made you some chicken soup this afternoon, just in case you woke up. It's still warm."

Harry's stomach growled. Harry flinched, as he was completely caught off guard by surprise. He hadn't actually been hungry in months. After failing to eat for so long, he had learned to ignore the hunger pains, and so they eventually went away. Now, though, they were back with a passion. His stomach growled again. Harry tried to hide it by covering his stomach in an attempt to block out the sound, but he failed miserably.

"I know it's not much, dear," Mrs. Weasley continued softly. "But Madam Pomfrey doesn't think you'll be up to eating much for a few more days, so…"

Harry shook his head again, ignoring his stomach's rumbling protests. Even though the thought of eating hot food, which was a luxury that he actually couldn't remember enjoying, was very appealing to him, he simply couldn't afford to fall for her obvious trick. She was simply distracting him at the present moment in an attempt to ruse him into staying. Right now, he needed to focus on the most important thing, which was forming an escape plan to get as far away from these people as possible.

But what if he couldn't get away from these people? What if he couldn't escape? What would happen to him next? Harry had to admit to himself that he was utterly terrified to find out.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Mr. Weasley asked quietly. Harry frowned as he was caught off guard by the question. Was this man actually asking him what was wrong? That was a strange concept to Harry, who'd never been treated civilly by the Dursleys.

"Harry?" the man asked again, as gently as Harry had ever heard someone speak. Why were these people being so nice to him? Were they really this way all the time, or were they just tricking him? Harry wasn't so sure anymore. "Something's bothering you. I can tell by the look in your eyes. What's wrong?"

Harry paused. What should he do? Should he answer the man's question, or should he just stay quiet? Whenever Harry ignored his Uncle Vernon in the past, he always got a smack or a punch in the face for what his uncle called 'blatant disrespect.' Would this man do the same to Harry if he didn't respond? He decided didn't want to find out... at least, not right now.

"You… you've been… drugging me…" Harry pointed out, nodding in the woman's direction.

"No," Mrs. Weasley gasped as her eyes widened in horror. She glanced anxiously at her husband in concern. Harry was shocked to see that she looked truly mortified.

"You're going… to make me… sleep again…" Harry said awkwardly, inwardly scolding himself for how weak and tired he must have sounded to these people. To be honest, however, he was having a very difficult time keeping his eyes open. He was exhausted, even though he hadn't really done anything. What was happening to him? Why was he so tired?

"Harry, no, you've gotten it all wrong," she said worriedly. "We've been giving you po… er… _medicine…_ to heal your injuries and help you sleep. And you have to sleep or your injuries won't get any better."  
 _  
To heal my injuries_ , Harry repeated slowly to himself, finding that her explanation sounded extremely odd and simply didn't make any sense. Just to be sure, Harry looked up and down his arms, and he couldn't find a single scratch or mark on him. Medicine didn't heal broken bones, nor did it make seemingly severe scrapes, scratches, and burns magically disappear. How would she explain that? Harry couldn't help feeling that these people weren't being completely honest with him. Were they hiding something from him? And if so, what was it?

On the flip side, however, he really did feel loads better. How harmful could those medicines have been after all? And besides, did it really matter whether he'd been sleeping nine days or ninety at this point? He was pretty certain the latter was more accurate, as he still didn't believe they'd miraculously healed his injuries in just nine days, but regardless, he'd missed out an incredible amount of time. He needed to get as far away from these people as possible… and soon.

"Harry, something's still bothering you," Mr. Weasley pointed out gently, as Harry continued to sit on the floor in silence. There was no trace of frustration or impatience with Harry on the man's face whatsoever, something Harry found extremely un-Dursleyish. "What's wrong?"

Harry paused, unsure of how to respond. His heart began pounding even faster as his panic was starting to consume him once again, dulling his senses. To top it off, he realized his head was now throbbing, and the pain in his chest was beginning to become unbearable again.

What should he do?

 _Answer him or he's going to hit you,_ Harry thought instinctively.

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley repeated, waiting for Harry's answer.

Harry silently gulped, preparing himself for what he was about to say. It was the one thing that had been bothering him ever since he first met these people back in London. Should he say it? Or would they laugh at him for even mentioning it?

"You're… you're going to take me back… to the Dursleys," he whispered finally, unable to keep the imminent fear out of his voice.

"Oh, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley cried, more tears slipping down her face. She slowly dropped to her knees and attempted to scoot closer towards Harry, but Harry sharply shook his head in dire warning. He was afraid that if she got any closer, he might accidentally do something again that he couldn't control. She froze in place, seemingly heeding Harry's silent word of warning, and sat back on the heels of her feet.

"No, Harry, that's not true," Mr. Weasley said immediately, shaking his head in disagreement. "Please don't think that."

"Harry, please believe us when we say that no one here is going to take you back to those horrible people ever again!" Mrs. Weasley replied, pleading with him.

"No… I don't… believe you…" Harry whispered in between breaths. His eyelids were beginning to droop and he was suddenly exhausted again. He shook his head in an effort to clear his sleepy mind again. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to stay awake.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley began seriously, a grave expression spreading over his face. His voice was suddenly very quiet. "Your aunt and uncle were very bad people."

Harry froze in place once more as his heart skipped a beat. He suddenly felt wide-awake again. _What did he just say?_


	8. Chapter 8: Surprising Revelations

**Chapter 8: Surprising Revelations**

"What?" Harry gasped, taken aback by the man's words.

"What they did to you was unforgivable," Mr. Weasley persisted somberly, his eyes full of an emotion that Harry just couldn't place.

The look of confusion on Harry's face must have been evident. _What was this man talking about?_ Harry was utterly shocked once more as the man carefully got down on his knees next to his wife in an attempt to get eye-level with Harry.

"Harry, we know what they did to you," Mr. Weasley continued quietly.

"Excuse me?" Harry breathed, trying not to show how unnerved this man had suddenly made him.

"Harry, we know they hurt you," Mr. Weasley replied delicately.

Harry frowned at the man's words. Did he really know what the Dursleys did to him? Did he really know how downright cruel and nasty they were to Harry on a daily basis? Or was this man just making it all up to trick Harry?Considering Harry's complete lack of trust in people, he settled for the latter option.

"No," he said, shaking his head in denial. He wasn't going to let this man get to him. Not now. "You're… you're lying."

He couldn't know the real truth. Harry had never uttered one word about his abusive life with the Dursleys. Well, he had vaguely mentioned it to his primary school teacher all those years ago, but the social worker that came to investigate Harry's accusations determined Harry had been lying about his relatives. And the Dursleys, who had always gone out of their way to hide Harry and his entire existence from others, surely wouldn't have confided in anyone about what they did to Harry. Therefore, this man couldn't really know about how badly the Dursleys had treated him, could he?

"We know they did some really bad things to you," Mr. Weasley stated sadly.

They didn't really know what the Dursleys did to him after all, Harry realized with disgust. This man was just making general statements hoping to fool Harry into believing that they really cared about him. Harry wouldn't fall for it.

"Stop," Harry spat a little more hatefully than he meant, a flicker of anger rising up in him as he realized these people were taunting him. "You're just saying that to mess with me."

"Arthur? What are you doing?" Mrs. Weasley whispered cautiously, glancing back and forth between Harry and Mr. Weasley to gauge Harry's reaction.

"Molly, he has to know," Mr. Weasley said, never taking his eyes off of Harry.

"But, Arthur, it's too soon!" Mrs. Weasley gasped, her eyes full of worry and concern. "He only just woke up! He needs to rest more before-"

"He doesn't trust us, Molly. There is no way that we are going to be able to gain his trust unless we are completely upfront with him," Mr. Weasley replied sternly.

Harry frowned, trying to understand once again what the man's true motive was. Was he just saying all of this to trick Harry into trusting him? But if he was trying to trick him, why was he trying so hard? Why was it so important that Harry trust them? Harry wasn't so sure what to think anymore… he was getting more and more confused by the second.

"You're right, I don't trust you," Harry said, feigning confidence, even though he wasn't really sure of anything anymore at this point. "And nothing you can say or do will ever change that."

There was a tense silent, as Harry continued to glare at Mr. Weasley in distrust, but the red-headed patriarch didn't even flinch.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley continued softly, ignoring Harry's apathetic manner. "We know they hit you."

Harry shook his head again in denial. _No way,_ he thought disbelievingly _. There was absolutely no way this man knew the real truth. He was just really good at guessing. Every kid got hit by their parents anyway, right? So this man was just really good at making assumptions._

 _Except Dudley_ , a small voice whispered earnestly in his ear. _Dudley never got hit by his parents. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia never hit Dudley_.

"No," Harry lied, continuing to shake his head. "They never touched me."

"Harry, we know they beat you," Mr. Weasley continued seriously, his eyes never straying from Harry's. "Your uncle… your aunt… even your cousin Dudley… The Dursleys all had nasty tempers, and they took it out on you."

 _Every kid gets a good beating sometimes,_ Harry thought, trying to reason with himself. _Every parent loses control and beats their child at some point._

 _Except Dudley,_ the small voice whispered in his head again. _Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never beat him. Even when Dudley messed up and made mistakes, they never hurt him._

Harry shook his head, trying to clear it of the confusing thoughts that were now racing in his mind, threatening to undue years and years worth of misconceptions and lies that Harry had grown to accept throughout his horrendous childhood in a desperate attempt to survive.

A flicker of memory unexpectedly flashed across Harry's eyes. _Within seconds, he was back on the kitchen floor of Number 4 Privet Drive, cradling his broken arm as his enraged uncle stood over him once more, shouting deranged comments at him and swinging his fists in a pure rage. Harry couldn't remember what he had done wrong that time. He flinched with each swing his uncle took, crying out in pain as his uncle's fists made contact each time with some part of his body._

"…Harry? Harry?" Mrs. Weasley's anxious voice suddenly called out, bringing him back to reality. Harry gasped and looked around at his surroundings, remembering he wasn't at the Dursleys' after all as Mr. and Weasley were still kneeling in front of him, gazing at him in concern. Harry clenched his trembling hands tightly; trying his best not to show Mr. and Mrs. Weasley just how apprehensive he really was at the current moment. His uncle's memory really upset him, just as it always did.

"Harry, are you okay?" Mrs. Weasley asked soothingly, but Harry couldn't even respond, as he was so caught up in his thoughts.

 _"You deserved it,"_ his uncle's lingering voice whispered hatefully in his head. _"You deserved every beating, and you know it, freak! It was all your fault!"_

His uncle was right. Harry had deserved every bit of it. It _was_ all his fault.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head even more furiously as his uncle's voice continued to ring hauntingly in his ear. He desperately wished it would go away. "I deserved it. I wasn't good enough for them…. They only hurt me because I deserved it."

Mrs. Weasley gasped in horror as she stared at Harry with shock. "Harry!" she cried out imploringly, her eyes wide with worry and concern. "Don't say that! It's not true!"

Harry looked away, refusing to argue with the woman as he stared at the blank wall. She didn't understand, not that Harry really cared anyway. He'd be leaving soon if he got his way.

"We know they locked you up, Harry," Mr. Weasley said gravely, slowly inching his way towards him. Harry, however, was so caught off guard by this man's words that he didn't even notice. He suddenly felt like he had gotten all of the air knocked out of him, simply by what Mr. Weasley had said. Harry's eyes widened even further as he mistakenly met Mr. Weasley's concerned stare.

"No," Harry lied breathlessly, his voice barely a whisper now as he shook his head once more. "They didn't."

"Yes, they did," Mr. Weasley continued, apparently determined to get through to Harry. "Your aunt and uncle locked you up in a cupboard under the stairs… for hours and days at a time. That's where you slept and spent most of your time whenever you weren't at school or doing chores. You even had a small cot in there to sleep on."

 _How did they know about that?_ How did they know that his relatives made him live in a cupboard, and how did they know that it was under the stairs? Inside, Harry was freaking out. Unaware, his entire body started trembling in fear and sweat began pouring down his face.

"They… they didn't have any room for me…" Harry whispered quietly, trying to reason with the man. "When my p-parents d-died… they t-took me in… and they gave me the only room they had left."

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley cried desperately. "That's not true, and you know it. Stop lying to yourself."

Harry knew what he was saying must have sounded foolish. However, he couldn't bring himself to admit the awful truth to these people. He was absolutely humiliated and ashamed by his abusive past with the Dursleys. Growing up, he frequently found himself rationalizing the Dursleys' actions… trying to come up with any reason at all that would justify their ruthless behavior towards Harry. _What did he do wrong this time? What did he say that he shouldn't have said? How could he have made his aunt and uncle happier?_ Right now, he found himself trying to reason with himself once more.

"They gave you the only room they had left, even though they had an extra spare bedroom for your uncle's sister whenever she came to stay?" Mr. Weasley asked in disbelief. "Even though your cousin Dudley had his own toy room to store all of his extra belongings?"

Harry gasped, completely taken aback by how seemingly well Mr. Weasley had described Number 4 Privet Drive. _How did he know that?_

Mr. Weasley wasn't finished, however.

"We know they…" Mr. Weasley's voice cracked with raw emotion and he shook his head, finally breaking his eye contact with Harry and seemingly unable to continue as he stared at the floor in anguish. Mrs. Weasley reached out and grabbed her husband's hand, squeezing it in reassurance.

"Arthur, dear," Mrs. Weasley whispered, wrapping her arm around her husband's back in a show of support. "You don't have to continue."

"Yes, I do," Mr. Weasley said, nodding his head while still staring at the ground. "Harry needs to know that we are not going to hurt him and that he can count on us to keep him safe. He needs to know that we are not going to take him back to those awful people, and he needs to know why."

Mr. Weasley took a deep breath and glanced back up at Harry, who was now staring back at the man with concern of his own. Mr. Weasley now had tears streaming down his face. What had Harry done? Was this man now crying because of him?

Harry had never seen another grown man cry before… not even his uncle. Only weak people cried, according to Uncle Vernon. Seeing as how Harry had cried many times before when he was younger, his uncle had always made sure to point it out to him. But Mr. Weasley didn't seem like a weak person at all… what was going on?

"Harry, we know they starved you," Mr. Weasley ground out through clenched teeth, as if the words were extremely difficult for him to say.

Harry gasped in surprise, his heart stopping at the meaning of his words. _How did he know that?_

"No," Harry said, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn't be telling the truth, could he?

"One slice of cheese and a piece of bread… that's all you were ever given by your aunt and uncle…" Mr. Weasley said painstakingly, staring at Harry with a huge look of grief and distress all over his face. Mrs. Weasley choked back tears as she stared at Harry with a similar look.

 _How did they know about the Dursleys? How much more did they know about his horrible life with his awful relatives?_

"No," Harry repeated, wiping his face with the back of his hand furiously as tears began streaming down his face as well. He couldn't deny this man's horrific, yet accurate accusations much longer. Mr. Weasley had finally broken him down. "No, no, no, no."

"Harry, it's okay," Mrs. Weasley whispered supportively, reaching her hand out towards him. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. None of this was, or is, your fault."

"Yes, it is," Harry answered immediately, flinching away from her outstretched hand, yet not really aware of what he was saying at all. "It was all my fault. I'm a freak. I deserved all of it. I'm a horrible person."

Against his natural instinct to always keep his eyes on the enemy, he pulled his knees up to his chest, ignoring the aching pain now coursing through his entire body. He buried his head in his chest and rested his forehead on his knees, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths to calm himself down as his emotions threatened to completely overwhelm him. He didn't want to have another panic attack today… at least, not in front of these people.

"Harry, you're not a freak. You're not a horrible person. And none of this was your fault," Harry heard Mrs. Weasley say from somewhere above him, but Harry wasn't listening.

"Not now, Molly," Mr. Weasley's voice whispered carefully.

"But Arthur! He thinks-" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, but Mr. Weasley cut her off.

"We'll worry about that later, dear," Mr. Weasley said, gently but firmly. "Now is not the time. He won't understand."

Harry couldn't believe it. These people knew. Somehow, someway, these people _knew_. He didn't know how much they really understood, but they knew just enough to throw Harry completely over the edge. _How did they find out? Did they talk to the Dursleys? If so, how did they get them to confess?_ Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had fooled everyone when it came to Harry before, so why were these people any different? Even more importantly, why did they care about what the Dursleys did to Harry? It wasn't any of their business, anyway, so why were they even bothered to find out? Harry was a nobody, insignificant to everyone he had ever encountered before in his entire life. Why did these people care?

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley whispered, bringing Harry back to reality as he realized the two adults were still waiting on him to say or do something. Harry took a deep breath and wiped his eyes with his bloody pajama shirt, steadying himself for what he was about to say. He looked up at the two somber adults.

"How?" Harry whispered, horrified as terrifying memories of his aunt and uncle flashed before his eyes. _His uncle punching him… his aunt screaming at him… his cousin chasing him…_ "How do you know?"

There was a pause, as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged meaningful glances. Then Mrs. Weasley spoke.

"Harry, when you ran away three years ago, everyone started looking for you," Mrs. Weasley said, tears continuing to fall down her face. She slowly inched towards Harry, but Harry was so shocked by this sudden turn of events, that he didn't even notice.

"Everyone?" Harry asked, confused. _Who was she talking about?_

"When you didn't return your Hogwarts letter-" Mrs. Weasley started.

"Hogwarts?" Harry asked, confused. _What was she talking about?_

"Yes, it's a special school… one that your parents went to when they were your age… It's actually one of the greatest schools in the world, and your name's been down to join since the day you were born," Mrs. Weasley answered.

Harry was confused. Why hadn't he ever heard of this school before now? His aunt and uncle would have most certainly wanted Dudley to attend if it was as prestigious as these people were claiming it was, wouldn't they?

"You were supposed to attend Hogwarts the year you turned eleven-years-old," Mr. Weasley continued. "The school sent out an invitation formally inviting you to attend the school just weeks before your eleventh birthday."

 _Just weeks before I ran away_ , Harry thought regretfully _. If I'd only stayed just a few more weeks… If only I'd put up with the Dursleys' nonsense for a few more weeks… everything would have been different._

Harry shook his head sharply, tearing himself away from his wishful thoughts. He wasn't supposed to believe anything these people were saying, after all. He didn't trust them, he reminded himself.

"Anyways, when you didn't answer your Hogwarts letter, some teachers from the school went to your house to check on you. That's when…" Mrs. Weasley stopped, unable to continue. She choked back a sob and wiped her eyes. She seemed visibly upset.

"At that point, it became quite obvious what had happened to you, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, giving his wife a reassuring glance and picking up where Mrs. Weasley left off. "The Dursleys didn't have to explain what had happened to you… that damn cupboard was proof enough."

Harry shifted awkwardly, not wanting to think about what they may have possibly seen in that cupboard. He certainly had seen enough.

"Why?" Harry asked, continuing to play along with their game and feigning interest. "Why did you look for me? Why did you care? Nobody ever cared about me before. Everyone hated me."

"Harry, that's not true," Mrs. Weasley said, shaking her head sadly. "That's not true at all."

"Yes, it is," Harry said instantly, forgetting that he wasn't supposed to be engaging in conversation with these people. "No one ever liked me. Everyone at school teased me and bullied me, just like my aunt and uncle. They couldn't have cared less if I were gone. They all hated me."

"Arthur, perhaps we should stop here? Harry's hurt and needs his rest," Mrs. Weasley began. "I think we're just upsetting him."

"No!" Harry gasped, desperately wanting to hear the rest of their explanation. "I'm sorry if I was rude… it's just… never mind…. Will you please continue?"

"We knew your parents," Mr. Weasley explained simply. "Well, we actually didn't know them personally, but we knew of them. Lily and James Potter were two of the bravest wi- er- people who ever lived…"

"Lily and James Potter?" Harry repeated in numbed disbelief.

"Yes, Harry, your parents," Mr. Weasley repeated with concern. "Didn't you know that?"

 _Lily and James Potter_ , Harry thought to himself. His parents' names were Lily and James Potter. He'd never known that before until now. His aunt and uncle had always refused to tell him their names before, and as a result, he'd always been so desperate to learn them.

 _I'm named after my father,_ he thought faintly. _Harry James Potter._

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley continued, breaking Harry once again out of his thoughts.

"No, sir," Harry answered truthfully, shaking his head. "I didn't know."

There was an awkward pause as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged concerned glances again. Harry was beginning to get the feeling that they were hiding something from him again.

"You mean so much to so many people, Harry," Mrs. Weasley continued. The words struck Harry as odd, considering he didn't think anyone could be bothered that he had been missing. Everyone that he knew hated him. "So when we found out you were missing, we wanted to help find you. We started looking for you right away."

"Thousands of people have been searching for you, Harry," Mr. Weasley continued, making eye contact with Harry again. "Lots of people have been very worried about you."

Thousands of people had been looking for him? _But how? Why?_ Harry was suddenly feeling extremely sick at his stomach. This was all too much. These people couldn't possibly be telling him the truth, could they?

 _But they knew about the Dursleys,_ he told himself, trying to rationalize his thinking. _They knew they hit me. They knew they locked me up in a cupboard. They knew they starved me. What if they are telling the truth?_

"What you went through… the neglect… the abuse… that never should have happened…." Mr. Weasley said seriously, shaking his head in regret.

"Harry, we didn't know," Mrs. Weasley cried, renewed tears falling down her face. "Please believe us when we say we truly didn't know what was going on at your relatives' house. We had absolutely no idea as to what the Dursleys were doing to you or how badly you were being treated by them. If we had known, we would have had you out of there in an instant."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. It didn't matter anyways. What was done, was done. There was no going back now. He couldn't change what had happened to him and neither could they. He'd never be able to fix his past.

"It doesn't matter anymore anyways," Harry whispered with a deadened look in his eyes.

"Yes, it does matter, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said firmly. " _You_ matter. I hope one of these days you'll let us prove it to you."

 _One of these days_ , he repeated to himself. Did she actually plan on keeping him around that long?

"Your aunt and uncle were absolute monsters, Harry," Mr. Weasley finished sternly. "And I want you to know that they will never be able to hurt you ever again. I will personally guarantee it."

There was a silence in the air, in which Harry continued to stare at the Weasley parents, trying to determine how honest and real they were being with him. One tiny part of him wanted to give up everything he'd stood for these last thirteen years and believe everything these people were saying, throwing all of his trust in them. A larger part of him, however, knew better than to believe anything that these people were saying. But Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seemed so genuinely nice that it was difficult for Harry to _not_ to trust them.

After several minutes, he finally broke the silence.

"What happened to them?" Harry asked. He needed to know, regardless of what would happen to him next. "What happened to my aunt and uncle?"

"They were arrested by the proper authorities and charged for their crimes. They're serving life sentences in prison," Mr. Weasley said.

"So…" Harry began, unsure of how to continue.

"Yes, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley pressed. She seemed very patient, waiting for Harry to collect his thoughts.

"I'm not going back to the Dursleys?" Harry asked daringly. Even though these people had just told him, he still couldn't quite believe it. He needed to hear it again.

"Never," Mr. Weasley said. "You will never go back to the Dursleys ever again. They can't hurt you anymore, Harry. You're safe now."

 _You're safe now_ , he repeated as the words rang through his ears. These people had told him that dozens of times by now, but Harry still wasn't sure. Could he trust these people?

"But…" Harry said, pausing as he tried to get his thoughts together. He wasn't sure if he should risk asking the question or not.

"Harry, please, ask us anything you want. I'm sure you're really confused right now. You deserve the answers to your questions," Mrs. Weasley explained.

Harry was shocked. His aunt and uncle never would have been this open to him before. Harry had never been allowed to ask questions before.

"Why am I here? Why didn't you leave me in the alley in London?" Harry asked honestly.

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to respond, but she quickly shut it. She seemed at a loss for words. A few moments went by before she seemed to recover.

"Harry, you were hurt. We couldn't just _leave_ you there," Mrs. Weasley replied.

"Uncle Vernon would have," Harry mumbled under his breath. Mr. Weasley seemed to have heard Harry, however.

"Which is why we didn't," Mr. Weasley said calmly. "I think you'll find out, Harry, that we are _very_ different from your aunt and uncle."

So they were going to make him stay here after all, he thought miserably. He looked around the room once more, hoping that maybe he'd missed something, but again, there was no way he could escape this room without the two adults knowing.

"I want to go back," Harry said truthfully, sounding so lost as he focused his gaze on the two adults once more. "I want to go home."

"Where is home, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, cocking his head to one side in curiosity.

Harry gasped. Had he said too much? Had he spoken too soon? Did he say something that he wasn't supposed to?

"What do you mean, sir?" Harry asked apprehensively.

"Where have you been living all this time, son?" Mr. Weasley continued.

Should he tell them? Should he tell them that he'd been living on the streets for the past three years? Should he tell them that he'd been homeless ever since leaving the Dursleys'? Would they even believe him? Harry decided he didn't trust them enough to tell them. It was simply too personal… and horrific.

"I want to go home," Harry repeated more firmly this time, choosing not to answer the man's question. He hoped the man wouldn't be too upset with him for avoiding the answer. "Please let me go home."

"Harry, dear, when you feel better," Mrs. Weasley said heartbreakingly. "We'll take you home, I promise."

Harry knew better than to believe her. People always broke their promises with him, especially adults.

"Harry, you are not a prisoner here," Mr. Weasley said. "We are not holding you hostage, whether you want to believe it or not. When you get better, if you decide you'd rather stay somewhere else, then we will gladly help you make other housing arrangements… as long as they are safe arrangements for a thirteen-year-old boy. We just want you to be safe, son."

"For now, however, you need our help, whether you like it or now," Mrs. Weasley continued. "You're still very ill and are only just recovering from some very serious life-threatening injuries. You nearly died on us, Harry, _several_ times might I add. You need to rest, dear."

Harry had so many more questions, but he still wasn't sure if he could trust these people.

 _But they haven't hit me… yet,_ he thought, trying to reason with himself. _They will when they figure out how much of a freak I really am._

Harry moaned as the dull, aching throbs that had been coursing through his body for the last several minutes suddenly became sharp stabbing pains that he couldn't ignore any longer. He clutched his chest, hoping to ease some of the discomfort, but nothing worked. What was happening to him?

"Harry, dear, what's wrong?" Mrs. Weasley asked in concern as she noticed Harry was in pain.

Harry didn't answer. What should he say? If he told her the truth, she'd surely drug him again and make him go to sleep. On the other hand, however, Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to stay awake much other. Was it worth the risk?

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley pressed.

At this point, Harry was so tired and exhausted, he couldn't keep his head up any longer. Against his protests, he collapsed onto the floor in a crumpled heap as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley cried out his name in shock.

"Harry!" Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gasped, rushing to his side. Harry flinched as Mrs. Weasley touched him, seemingly checking him over for any injuries. He groaned, realizing just how much pain he was really in. His entire body ached all over. _Why?_

"Oh, you poor thing, you're due for another round of potions. You've been in pain all this time, haven't you?" Mrs. Weasley asked worriedly, realization dawning on her face. _There was that word again_ , Harry thought dully to himself as the word 'potions' rang through his ears once more. "Why didn't you tell us sooner, dear? We could have helped."

"What?" he gasped in confusion, but he didn't have time to think about it. Before he knew it, before he could even stop it, strong arms ever so gentle slid underneath him and picked him up. Harry immediately began to struggle against the person carrying him. Mr. Weasley, however, seemed prepared for this and readjusted his grip accordingly. A few seconds later, Harry was gently lowered back down onto the bed he had originally woken up in. His breathing was very labored from his sudden efforts to escape the man's firm grip and he was sweating profusely.

Mrs. Weasley leaned over Harry and immediately began unbuttoning his pajama top. Harry weakly tried to shove her hands away, but she wouldn't budge.

"Harry, dear, your chest is still bleeding," she said worriedly as she fought against his failed attempts to get her to stop. "And I'm afraid you may have made it worse. I just want to have a look at it. Do you mind?"

Harry wasn't sure what to do. Did she really want to help him, or was she simply going to make it worse? Should he trust her?

Considering she hadn't actually done anything to hurt him yet, maybe he could trust her with this, at least? She had seemed to have done a fair job so far mending his injuries. He had nothing to lose, after all. And quite frankly, he was simply too weak to even stop her.

He sighed in defeat, dropping his hands as he allowed Mrs. Weasley to continue. He felt extremely uncomfortable as she removed his shirt. She gingerly pulled off the blood-soaked bandages that had been covering his chest and began to inspect the injury.

"Well, it really had been improving before you woke up," she said, shaking her head sadly in disappointment. "Now though… no worries, dear. We'll get it cleaned up and rewrapped, and you'll feel all better again."

"I'm going to get Madam Pomfrey, Molly. Harry, I'll be right back," Mr. Weasley said, promptly leaving the room before Mrs. Weasley even had time to respond.

Mrs. Weasley smiled reassuringly at Harry as she pulled the covers up over his bare chest, tucking the bed covers in gently around him. She picked up a washcloth, dipped it in a bowl of water, and laid it across his forehead. He flinched at the action and gasped at how strangely cool the cloth felt on his forehead. He'd seen his aunt do something similar for his cousin Dudley before, but never for him.

She reached for another glass standing on the nightstand and held it out for Harry to take.

"This isn't water, Harry," she said, purposefully saying it slowly so that Harry understood. "You're in a lot of pain, which is completely normal considering everything that you've been through. This drink has pain medicine in it that will ease the pain you're feeling right now."

Harry eyed the offered drink suspiciously and instinctively shook his head. Mrs. Weasley sighed in defeat and put the drink back on the table.

"Do you remember who Madam Pomfrey is?" Mrs. Weasley asked, smiling reassuringly once more, seemingly in an attempt to make polite conversation with Harry. Harry, who was now on edge about potentially being forced to take these 'potions' again, tried to search through his memories of the last week and a half, but he couldn't place the name. He shook his head.

"She is the school nurse who has been in charge of healing you. She's just going to check you out to make sure there's no lasting damage," she said, smiling reassuringly at Harry. When she noticed the look of apprehension on Harry's face, her tone become more serious. "She won't hurt you, Harry. You're safe here. Please remember that."

Harry didn't say anything for the next several minutes as he continued to lie on the bed, doing everything in his power to stay awake. He wanted to see what would happen next. He had to stay awake to defend himself against these people if he needed to. Staying awake was much harder than he realized, however. His eyelids were just beginning to close in defeat as the door opened.

Harry automatically bolted upright in the bed, gasping in surprise as two shadowy intruders made their way into the room. His heart once again began racing in apprehension. He was prepared to fight the new intruders if need be, regardless of how awful he presently felt.

"Harry, it's okay," Mrs. Weasley's voice cooed soothingly as the two figures stepped out from the shadows. "It's just Madam Pomfrey and Arthur."

An old woman with gray hair, long white robes, and a white hat came walking briskly into the room. This must have been Madam Pomfrey. Mr. Weasley walked in behind her.

"Mr. Potter," she said, nodding at him and coming to a stop right beside his bed. She smiled in reassurance. Harry realized with shock that he recognized her voice after all. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry said automatically, continuing to clutch his aching chest. He stifled a moan as a sharp pain ran up and down his torso.

"Really, Mr. Potter?" she asked, her eyebrows raised in slight amusement. The nurse didn't seem to believe him for one second.

Harry's face turned red from embarrassment. Why was he such a terrible liar in front of these people?

"He took a nasty fall off his bed," Mrs. Weasley said, explaining the blood on his chest to the nurse. "And it's time for another round of his healing potions."

"I see," Madam Pomfrey said, opening up her medical bag and digging through it. She pulled out a small vial and emptied the mysterious contents into a cup. Harry immediately eyed it suspiciously as the woman offered it to him, refusing to take the offered drink.

"N-no," he gasped, moaning as he shook his head. She was going to make him sleep again!

"It's okay, Harry. I'm going to heal your chest injury as best as I can, but I can't do it while you are awake. I'm afraid it'll scare you too much. This is a Dreamless Sleep potion. It'll make you sleep," Madam Pomfrey said soothingly.

"No," he said, shaking his head once more. He didn't want to sleep. He still needed to plot his escape plan, which he had completely forgotten about.

But _did_ he still even want to escape? _Did_ he want to leave these people?

After everything he had found out tonight, he wasn't so sure now.

"Harry, you need to rest," Mrs. Weasley said worriedly, her eyes filling up with tears again. Harry gasped in confusion as she grabbed his hand and patted it gently, trying to comfort him. He was so taken aback by the unfamiliar gesture that he didn't remove his hand from her grip. "You're in so much pain, and the only way that you're going to get better is if you rest. You're only injuring yourself further."

"Harry, it'll help you sleep," Mr. Weasley said, trying to convince him to take it.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head firmly, though he felt he was fighting a losing battle as his vision began to swim in and out of view. He was so tired. He was going to pass out again.

"Mr. Potter," the nurse said sternly, folding her arms as she stared him down. "You can either take it now, _willingly_ , or you can take it in few minutes, when you undoubtedly fall asleep from exhaustion. Either way is fine with me, but you will be drinking this whether you like it or not. You have about a dozen different healing potions to take anyways."

"Harry, please," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice cracking with emotion again as she continued to plead with him. "Just trust us."

Could he trust them? Harry was so confused. He didn't know what to think anymore.

"No," he whispered finally, raw emotion breaking through his voice as he pulled his hand out of Mrs. Weasley's soft grasp. "I can't."

The last thing Harry saw was Mrs. Weasley's heartbroken look of concern before exhaustion overtook him and he blacked out.

 **A/N: Next up, Ron and the youngest Weasley children make their reappearance as Harry meets the rest of the Weasley clan!**


	9. Chapter 9: Escape Attempts

**A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post this! Life has been crazy busy with moving, remodeling, vacations, and the start of a new school year. But I am so glad to finally be finished with this chapter and share it with you all!**

 **By the way, if you haven't noticed yet, this is a slow paced story. I always meant for it to be slow paced. While it will pick up a bit in the next few chapters, please bare with me for a little while longer until then. This Harry is extremely traumatized, even more so than the real one is in the canon story. Healing, trust, and acceptance takes time and patience, and I want to give this storyline justice as this is what the story is all about.**

 **The next chapter is finished as well. I intend on posting it soon, but I may be more inclined to post it faster if you drop me a friendly line in the review section. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far!**

 **Happy reading!**

 **Chapter 9: Escape Attempts**

 _"Harry, I'd like to speak with you please," his primary school teacher spoke from the front of the classroom as the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Harry looked up in surprise at the man, who was intently staring at him from behind his desk. What did his teacher want to talk to him about? His heart immediately began racing as he inwardly fretted over what his teacher sought after from him. Normally his teachers only wanted to talk to him when he was in trouble, so what did he do wrong this time? Or more likely, what was he being falsely accused of this time?_

 _"Oi, Potter, you've really done it this time!" someone's malevolent voice shouted from the back of the room. Some of the students began snickering boisterously and pointing fingers at him; others began quietly muttering to each other from behind the backs of their hands. Everyone was staring at him._

 _Harry, who was used to this kind of treatment from his peers on a daily and even hourly basis, simply shifted his gaze downwards towards his desk while he remained frozen in his seat, pretending to suddenly be intrigued by the various pencil markings on his desk. Inconspicuously, he grasped the sides of his seat forcefully with his hands in an attempt to control his boiling anger. He had learned the hard way that if he didn't react to his classmates' words or actions, then they would eventually get bored with him and would leave him alone. Until then, however, he would have to suffer through their humiliating taunts._

 _"What did he do this time?" a student asked in an annoyed voice._

 _"He's always causing problems," someone said exasperatedly from behind him._

 _"That's why he doesn't have any friends," someone else said irritatingly._

 _"Who'd want to be friends with trash like him, anyways?" another student asked snootily._

 _"What a freak," yet another student muttered, not caring to keep his voice down._

 _"No wonder your parents drove themselves off a cliff," Harry heard someone whisper in his ear, softly enough so their teacher couldn't hear. It was Dudley. Harry cringed at the sound of his cousin's haunting voice. He sharply held his breath and dug his fingernails deeper into his seat, attempting with all his might to pretend that he didn't hear him. Dudley always knew the exact words to say that would upset him the most. "I would have too if I were them. Who would ever want to be stuck taking care of you? You're so pathetic. You're such a waste of space."_

 _"What's going on here?" the teacher's voice spoke up questioningly from the front of the room, immediately breaking up the verbal harassment that Harry had been facing from his classmates._

 _"Sir, I apologize for whatever my cousin's done this time," Dudley continued in a falsely sweet, yet much louder voice so that his teacher could hear him. Harry had no doubt that Dudley would try to get him in trouble for this once they got home._

 _"I assure you that I will personally make sure my parents take care of it," Dudley continued, roughly putting his hand on Harry's left shoulder and squeezing it painfully hard. Instinctively, Harry flinched violently away from his cousin's touch and wound up falling out of his chair, landing on the floor with a loud crash as he collided into several of the other desks nearby. Several students laughed haughtily as Harry groaned in pain and scrambled quickly to his feet, returning to his chair as fast as possible._

 _"That's enough," his teacher said loudly, addressing the students as a whole. The stern tone of his voice caused the students to immediately cease their conversations and leave the room quickly. Dudley, however, had stayed behind. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, secretly glad that the students had finally left the classroom. Honestly, he wasn't sure how much of their teasing he'd be able to handle today. So far, they'd been merciless and unrelenting in their bullying of him._

 _"Dudley, I would like to speak with Harry alone, please," his teacher continued seriously, motioning for Dudley to leave the room._

 _"Why?" Dudley asked, obviously shocked that he had been told that he had to leave by another adult. Dudley had never been told 'no' before by another teacher._

 _"That is between Harry and me, Dudley," the teacher continued, walking to the door and holding it open to signal for Dudley to leave. "Don't worry, he's not in trouble. He hasn't done anything wrong. I simply want to talk to him about something."_

 _"Oh…er… okay," said Dudley, still in a state of shock at being figuratively kicked out of the room. He was visibly in a state of shock. "I'll… I'll wait just outside the door then."_

No doubt to eavesdrop, _Harry thought, rolling his eyes in annoyance. He knew his cousin would be trying to listen through the door for anything that might get Harry in trouble at home._

 _"No, Dudley, I don't think that'd be a good idea," his teacher continued gently, as if reading Harry's mind. "You'll miss your bus if you do that. Don't worry, I'll make sure Harry gets home safely."_

 _Dudley took one last uncertain glance back towards Harry before leaving the room. Harry, who was still staring down at his desk, watched out of the corner of his eye as his teacher stood in the hallway right outside the room to make sure that Dudley was walking towards his bus. A few minutes later, his teacher walked back into the room. The sound of the door clicking shut caused Harry to jump in his seat, though he still refused to look up._

 _"Thanks, sir," Harry mumbled under his breath, mortified by what had just happened in class. Would his classmates ever stop? Would they ever leave him alone? He didn't think so._

 _"Harry, how often does that happen?" his teacher asked, shock clearly written all over his face._

 _"Excuse me, sir?" Harry asked, pretending not to understand what his teacher meant. Perhaps he would change the subject or, better yet, simply leave him alone?_

 _"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he replied sternly, staring at Harry. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unused to the abrupt attention his teacher was suddenly giving him._

 _"I'm used to it, sir," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders and not quite answering his teacher's question. "It's not a big deal anymore."_

 _"'Not a big deal?'" his teacher repeated in disbelief. "Harry, no student- no adult- should ever have to go through that. That was bullying."_

 _Harry shrugged his shoulders again. "I can handle it, sir."_

 _"Well, whether you think you can handle it or not, that is going to stop, starting first thing tomorrow morning," his teacher said resolutely, though Harry knew better than to believe him. Adults, including teachers, never did anything to help him. This teacher was simply making an empty promise._

 _Harry got to his feet and slowly gathered his books and belongings, particularly dreading going home to the Dursleys that night. He was going to be late now for sure, as his bus had just left. He'd have to walk home now, making him even later. His relatives would question him relentlessly about why he had to stay after school, and he would face some dire consequences because of it, regardless of whether he was in trouble at school or not._

 _He sadly swung his backpack over his back and began to gradually trudge towards the classroom door, his eyes focused solely on the floor in an attempt to avoid any eye contact with the adult._

 _"But that is not the reason why I wanted to speak with you," his teacher said, rapidly blocking Harry's exit from the room as he stood in front of the door._

 _"It's not?" Harry asked in uncertainty, looking up at his teacher for the first time in bewilderment. His teacher didn't seem to be angry with him, so what could he possibly have to say? Out of habit, Harry's eyes darted downwards again as he refused to maintain eye contact with the man._

 _"Harry, when was the last time you slept?" he remembered his teacher asking, prompting the devastating and life-changing conversation that followed._

 _"Excuse me, sir?" Harry asked uncomfortably, confused as to why his teacher was asking him this. Why was his teacher concerned? No one was ever concerned about Harry. No one ever cared about him, so why was this teacher suddenly acting like he cared now?_

 _"You're swaying on your feet," his teacher pointed out, gesturing to Harry with his arms. "You've looked extremely tired these last few days, more so than normal at least. Have you gotten any sleep at all?"_

 _Harry slightly stumbled at the man's words, both out of shock that the man had noticed and in an attempt to stop himself from collapsing to the floor in a dead heat. In all honesty, he was tremendously exhausted. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. The Dursleys had been keeping him awake all night the past several nights in a row to deep clean the house for Aunt Marge's upcoming visit. Everything had to be in perfect order for when Aunt Marge arrived, and the Dursleys weren't helping any in those efforts. He was so sleep deprived that he couldn't keep his days straight._

 _"O-of course… I-I'm fine, sir," Harry stammered, shifting his feet from side to side and putting his hands in his pockets. Harry took a step around his teacher in an attempt to leave, but the man continued to block his exit._

 _"Harry, how did you get those marks on your neck?" his teacher asked, coming right out and getting to the point of the conversation._

 _"What are you talking about, sir?" Harry asked nonchalantly, continuing to stare at the ground and refusing to look up at his teacher. He could feel his cheeks burn red as he reprimanded himself for forgetting to wear a turtleneck today to hide the marks. His sleep deprivation had made him careless, which was a mistake he couldn't afford. His relatives would surely hear about this._

 _"You know what I am talking about," his teacher replied firmly. Harry could feel the man's eyes bearing down on him._

 _"Er… I'm sorry sir… I don't believe I do," Harry said, hoping he sounded convincing. Apparently, he failed tremendously._

 _"Those marks on your neck, Harry. How did you get them?" his teacher pressed, taking a few steps towards Harry._

 _Harry froze in silent horror. He could feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck. Whenever the Dursleys approached him like this, he usually got a brutal beating. What was his teacher going to do to him? Was he going to hurt him, just like the Dursleys did when they were angry with him? Attempting to be brave, Harry shrugged his shoulders as if it didn't matter._

 _"I-I f-fell, sir," he lied monotonously. "I-I tripped down the stairs on accident."_

 _"Hmmm," his teacher answered, though he sounded thoroughly unconvinced. "Are you sure you're telling the truth, Harry?"_

 _"Y-y-yes, sir," he mumbled, intently gazing at the ground. To be honest, Harry knew he was a terrible liar. He just hoped he could hide it for a few more minutes._

 _"Harry, those marks around your neck look like fingerprints. I know you're purposefully being dishonest with me right now. Why don't you try telling me the truth this time?" his teacher continued softly._

 _Harry's breath hitched in his throat as he realized he'd been caught in a lie. A million thoughts raced swiftly through his mind, most of which were fearful of what the Dursleys would do to him when they found out his teacher had questioned him about the abusive marks on his neck. Harry chanced a quick glance up at his teacher and noticed with shock that the teacher was pensively, not angrily, staring at him. For some reason, the teacher didn't seem mad at Harry for not telling the truth._

 _Harry didn't say anything, frantically trying to come up with a believable plan to cover up what the Dursleys had done to him last night. He subconsciously pulled the bottom of his shirt down, hoping the man wouldn't see the marks on his back either. Those bruises would surely be worse._

 _"You know you can tell me anything, Harry. Whatever you say in this room is safe with me. You won't get in trouble for anything you say."_

He's tricking you _, Harry thought._ He's going to go straight to the Dursleys, and I'll be in so much trouble tonight.

 _"I just want to help you," his teacher said quietly. Harry had never heard his teacher talk so quietly and gently to any student, and it was a bit unnerving._

 _"I-I-I got in a fight," Harry stuttered, completely panicking._

 _"Hmmm," his teacher answered. Harry could sense his teacher staring at him with a disapproving look. "Really?"_

 _Harry nodded his head and began to leave, taking a few steps towards the classroom door, when his teacher blocked his exit once again. Harry gasped in surprise as he looked up at the man, who was suddenly staring at him with a deeply concerned look._

 _"You seem to get in a lot of fights, Harry," his teacher said._

 _Harry shrugged his shoulders again in indifference._

 _"I guess people don't like me," Harry answered after a brief pause._

 _"Why do you think that?" his teacher pressed. This time, Harry knew he was the one being lied to._

 _"It's true," Harry commented, finally looking up at his teacher and holding his teacher's gaze. He knew he could be honest about this. It was obvious everywhere he went that none of the other students at school liked him. The endless bullying and the relentless teasing couldn't have gone unnoticed by the teaching staff._

 _His teacher's eyebrows furrowed in concern, and he slowly uncrossed his arms. The next thing Harry knew, his teacher was kneeling down in front of him in an attempt to look at Harry eye-level._

 _"Harry, what's wrong?" his teacher asked, attempting to grab both of Harry's shoulders. Harry couldn't help but violently flinch from the uncomfortable contact. Every time someone ever touched him in his life it resulted in pain and discomfort. His teacher, sensing Harry's awkwardness, slowly dropped his arms._

 _Harry didn't say anything. Had his teacher finally figured it out?_

 _"Harry?" his teacher repeated._

 _"Nothing," Harry lied, shaking his head._

 _"Harry, who is hurting you?" his teacher continued to press._

 _"No one," Harry answered, continuing to shake his head in response. "I did this to myself."_

 _Several moments passed in silence, but his teacher didn't move. Harry continued to stare at the ground, but he could still sense his teacher's eyes still on him._

 _"You know, I've been teaching nine-year-olds for ten years now. I think I know by now how to spot when a student is lying to me," his teacher said, somewhat sternly. Harry inwardly sighed with relief. His teacher's tone had changed, and he was acting more like his teacher again, not like some overly concerned therapist. Harry was used to being yelled at by adults. He could handle this now. This was easy._

 _"It doesn't matter," Harry answered, trying to finally end this subject once and for all. His teacher really didn't care after all, anyway. No one cared about him. Why would he?_

 _"Harry, yes, it does. You're always falling asleep in class. You're extremely withdrawn from the other students, as if you're afraid to interact with them. You never participate, or even talk, in class. And, to top it off, you purposefully fail your weekly assessments," his teacher listed off._

 _"Sir-" Harry began, but he was cut off._

 _"Something is happening to you Harry, something really bad, I just know it. I feel it every time you walk in this room," his teacher stated seriously._

 _Harry's eyes widened in amazement. Was it really that obvious? Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed from one of tension and awkwardness to one of intense worry._

 _"Harry, what is happening at home?" his teacher pressed._

 _"I… I…" Harry stuttered._

 _"Is it Dudley? Is he hurting you?"_

 _"I… please… don't…"_

 _"Is it your Aunt Petunia?"_

 _"I… er…"_

 _"Or is it your Uncle Vernon?"_

 _"Sir… p-please…. d-d-don't…" At this point, years of unshed tears began to fall down Harry's face._

" _Harry, we can't help you if you don't tell us what's going on. We can't stop them from hurting you if you don't say anything about it."_

 _"You're tricking me," Harry said, sniffling and hastily wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. He couldn't cry, not right now. He hadn't cried in years, and he wasn't about to start again now. Crying never solved anything. It only made everything much, much worse. However, to his utter humiliation, the tears continued to fall down his face. And for some reason, he couldn't hold them back anymore. "Uncle Vernon put you up to this."_

 _"No, Harry," his teacher said, gently grabbing hold of both of his arms in an attempt to get Harry to focus on him. Harry again visibly flinched at the touch, but this time, his teacher wouldn't let go. "I care about you. You've been suffering in silence for a long time, and I want to help."_

Harry bolted upright in a downright panic, clenching his chest and gasping for air as he tried to break free of the blankets he was currently tangled up in. He immediately looked around the room, anxiously surveying his surroundings for any potential threats, and he was shocked to see that for the first time since he'd arrived, he was alone. Harry let out a huge sigh of relief, thankful for a few moments of solitude. Through the closed curtains, he could tell that it was night outside. The light filtering through the slit at the bottom of the closed door told him that it must be early evening.

He tightly closed his eyes again and furiously shook his head, focusing on clearing it of the lingering remnants of his dream. That memory, including the horrifying recollections of what happened immediately afterwards as a damaging consequence of it, would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life.

He learned a harsh lesson that day, and this dream only served as a reminder of it. That day, he had made a vow that it would be the last time he would ever trust anyone ever again, and so far, he had kept that promise. The last few days with the Weasleys were proving to be quite challenging for Harry, but he renewed his promise to himself with a newfound unwavering sense of devotion. He would not be fooled into trusting anyone, particularly the Weasleys.

He didn't know why he was feeling so anxious about the Weasleys, though. As the memories of his previous encounter with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley returned to the forefront of his mind, he frowned in confusion. The two adults had revealed some very personal information that Harry had never confided in anyone before, making him feel extremely uneasy that they seemed to know so much about him. What else did they know about him that they hadn't revealed yet? Were they hiding something else from him?

He had so many questions; however, finding out the answers to those questions meant he would have to stick around a little longer, something that Harry was not willing to do. He was leaving. He had already made up his mind. He couldn't stay here any longer. He had spent the last three years trying to avoid recapture by the Dursleys, and he wasn't about to let these strangers take their place, regardless of how nice or sincere they seemed. It was all an act, _he knew it_ , and he wasn't about to get himself involved in something like that again. Honestly, Harry didn't know if he'd be able to survive another Dursley-like experience. He could hand the verbal abuse… but the brutal beatings? He didn't think he could emotionally handle one more.

Harry shook his head, shoving the worrisome thoughts from his mind. He was wasting time.

Harry swung his legs over his bed and gingerly put weight on his feet, cautiously testing their stability. He slowly stood up, grabbing onto the nearby nightstand for additional support to ensure he didn't fall. He immediately swayed precariously on his feet, as his legs weren't used to supporting his weight. Courageously, he took a shaky step forwards and instantaneously lost his balance, causing him to drop to his knees instead. Grunting in frustration, he crawled the remainder of the way to the window on his hands and knees and used the windowsill to pull himself back up to his feet. He was panting and sweating from the tremendous effort that it took to get to the window, but he was relieved that he was able to accomplish his goal.

After a few failed attempts, he finally managed to push open the window. He peered outside and looked down, letting out another sigh of frustration at what he saw. Mr. Weasley had been telling the truth after all. The room he was staying in was too high up. It would be reckless of Harry to jump from where he was, as he probably wouldn't survive the fall. _Okay, so jumping out the window is out of the question,_ he thought to himself. _Though, I was just fine jumping out of a two-story building the other day. What's three more stories?_

He continued to peer out the window, taking in his surroundings in the ever-increasing darkness. There seemed to be fields on either side of the house, but in the far-away distance, he could barely make out some tiny dots of lights, signaling what looked like a possible small town several miles ahead in the distance.

 _If only I could figure out how to get out of this house, I could walk there. I could find some food and hide out in the countryside._ Realistically, there was absolutely no way Harry would be able to successfully make such a trip in his current weakened condition, but Harry wasn't thinking rationally. _It might take a day or two, but I could do it,_ Harry reasoned with himself reassuringly.

Harry turned towards the door, considering the only other alternative to freedom. Perhaps, if he sneaked down the stairs quickly and quietly enough, no one would notice him? Maybe he could slip out the back door before anyone noticed he was gone? It was worth a shot, at least, he reasoned with himself.

As quietly as possible, Harry tiptoed to the door, careful to walk alongside the wall to steady himself. He put his ear up to the door to make sure no one was standing on the other side. Hearing nothing but silence, he gently opened it up to a miniscule crack and cautiously peered outside. The hallway was shrouded in darkness, and it appeared to be empty.

He opened the door further and stepped outside into the hallway. He walked towards the staircase and carefully peered over the railing. Light was coming from the bottom of the staircase. He strained his ears, and within seconds, he could hear the sounds of childish laughter and several adult voices drifting up the staircase. Many people were obviously gathered in the room that was located off to the side at the bottom of the staircase, though Harry couldn't actually see anyone. This would complicate things just a bit, as Harry wasn't sure if there would be a place to hide out of sight once he reached the bottom of the staircase. The last thing he wanted was to be caught sneaking downstairs and trying to escape. He would have to be very diligent and careful not to make any noise.

Five flights of stairs. No big deal, right? Except for the fact that Harry was still recovering from severe injuries and a devastating illness, so he was still very weak and lethargic. By the time he reached the bottom of he first flight of stairs, his face was dripping with sweat and he was struggling to stay on his feet. He had to grasp onto the rails very tightly just to stay standing upright. Harry very much wanted to crawl back into his bed and go to sleep, but he couldn't. He had to keep moving on. He had to carry out his plan. He had no other options. It was now or never. He had to escape. He had to get out of this place.

If Harry had been paying close enough attention, he would have realized the voices coming from downstairs had diminished and abruptly stopped. However, he was more focused on making it down the stairs that he didn't notice. As he reached the second flight of stairs, a sudden commotion at the bottom of the staircase caught his attention. He cautiously peered over the railing again to see several red-headed teenagers gathered at the bottom of the stairs, all huddled together and whispering to each other, as if they were plotting something. After a minute, to Harry's complete dismay, they started slowly climbing the stairs.

Harry instinctively stepped away from the railing and rushed back to his room as quickly as his tired feet would carry him. He quietly shut the door behind him and locked the door, resting his back and head against the door as he slid down into a sitting position and attempted to catch his breath. He instantly recoiled when voices at the top of the stairs reached the door. The group of teenagers was now right outside his door! His senses now on heightened alert, Harry instantaneously stood up straight and prepared himself, in case he needed to protect himself from the prospective intruders.

"Fred, hurry up! If Mum catches us, we're dead," George's voice whispered urgently.

 _So I was right_ , Harry mused silently to himself. _She wasn't as nice as she seemed after all._

"We have plenty of time," Fred whispered back. "The Order meeting just started. Mum and Dad will be stuck there for hours. We'll be done way before it's over. They won't know a thing."

He heard what sounded like someone picking a lock. His eyes widened in horror. They were breaking into his room! Harry started to panic as his mind raced over the endless possibilities of what would happen next. What was he going to do?

Harry apprehensively looked around the room one final time for a last desperate attempt for anything that would help him escape and, within seconds, he realized what he needed to do. He was going to climb out the window. He didn't care how reckless it was, but he wasn't staying. He didn't feel comfortable here. He didn't feel safe here. He couldn't be in the room when the group of teenagers burst in. They'd surely tease him relentlessly and cause him further harm by beating him to a pulp, as that's what kids his age did, after all. His instincts told him that he needed to get out of the room…. _now_.

But how? How would he be able to successfully climb out of a window that was five stories high? He looked around for any resources that might help him in his endeavor. The room was completely empty, except for two nightstands, two chairs, two dressers, two beds… that was it! He would use the sheets and blankets off of both beds to make a rope, which he would tie onto the bedpost of the bed nearest the window and use to climb out of the window! He had seen Dudley attempt to do it once while trying to sneak out of his house, but his cousin had epically failed at the challenge because the makeshift rope couldn't support his cousin's oversized weight, causing Dudley to fall to the ground and break his arm. But Harry was much lighter and smaller than the average teenager, and while his reflexes were slower than usual, he was confident he'd be able to do it.

But he would need a little extra time to do it all in, so he needed to block the door first. He attempted to push the dresser in front of the door to block it, but unsurprisingly, the dresser wouldn't budge. Instead, he backed up several feet, held up his right hand, and concentrated on moving the dresser in front of the door. Within seconds, the dresser swiftly moved in front of the door, blocking it. At least if the group of teenagers managed to break into the room after all, it would be a little more difficult for them to get to him. They would have to push the dresser out of the way first.

Harry quickly ripped the sheets and blankets off of both beds. Within seconds, Harry keeled over in one of the chairs, panting for air as large beads of sweat poured down his face once again. He was exhausted and was doing too much at once, but he couldn't help it. He had to hurry before he got caught. He painstakingly began tying the ends of the covers together one by one… four sheets and two blankets in all. While working, he continued listening to the conversation taking place outside his door.

"Are you sure about this, Fred?" Ginny asked worriedly.

"Ginny! You're supposed to be guarding the stairs in case Mum and Dad come out of the meeting early," George replied sharply.

"But we're not supposed to bother him, George," Ginny repeated timidly. "He's supposed to be resting…"

"I don't care what they say," George said. "He's been here a week and a half now. He's had plenty of time to rest."

"But-" Ginny urged, but was interrupted yet again.

"Besides, little sis, we don't actually intend on waking him up," Fred said. "We just want a little peek… you know, just to make sure he's actually alive and still breathing."

"Wait, you think he's-" Ginny gasped, unable to finish her thought.

"They're teasing you, Gin," Ron snapped darkly behind the door. "Don't say that, Fred. Not about Harry. Not after everything that's happened. That's just mean."

"Oh, he's alive alright," George said, albeit sarcastically, seemingly ignoring Ron's words. "Didn't you see Mum at dinner tonight?"

There was an uncomfortable silence as nobody spoke. Harry hoped that meant they had left. He was wrong.

"Yeah," Ron mumbled awkwardly. "She's an emotional wreck."

"Dad is too, now that I think about it," Fred said perplexedly. "I think Harry said something that really upset them."

"What did he say?" Ginny asked curiously.

"I dunno, but it must have been real bad. Dad never lets things get to him, but he was really upset," Fred responded anxiously.

Harry frowned in confusion. Looking back, he thought the Weasley parents had done a great job of trying to fool him into believing that they actually cared for him after all, but why were they still pretending to worry about him in front of their children? What was the point of that? Unless the entire family was in on the act after all… which was a possibility. _That must be it,_ Harry thought. _They're all faking it, hoping I will fall for their trick._ _It's not going to be that easy… they'll see. They can't fool me._

"Enough talking," George said, interrupting the conversation. "We're going to get caught if we don't move out of the hallway soon. Fred, how's that lock coming along?"

"I'm almost done," Fred answered. "Mum and Dad must have put some new enchantments on the door. The lock's harder to pick than normal. I think they knew we were going to try to do this. Good thing we were prepared."

Harry, who needed more time to carry out his plan, did the only thing he could think of in this situation. He slowly raised his right arm, and concentrating on controlling himself the best he could, he focused on keeping the door locked. A flash of red light emitted from his hand and shot straight towards the doorknob. A swift switch of the lock signaled that Harry had been successful in locking the door.

"What the-" Fred's shocked voice came from behind the door.

"C'mon, Fred," George said impatiently. "You're taking forever. I swear I could have had that lock picked three times over by now."

"But I did… I unlocked it," Fred replied stunned. "I swear it just locked itself again."

"Seriously? Doors don't just lock themselves… not around here, at least not this summer," George replied.

"Mum and Dad must have known you were going to do this," Ginny said. "Maybe they put some sort of charm on the lock to prevent you from picking it?"

"Move over, bro. Let me try," George said.

There was a scuffle behind the door. Within seconds, Harry could hear the lock being picked again. He raised his arm once more and focused on the lock. As soon as the lock switched to the unlocked position, Harry turned his hand slightly to the right, and the lock switched locked once again. This time, Harry felt a familiar wave of dizziness wash over him, warning him. He knew better than to attempt it again.

"Bloody hell!" George cried in amazement.

"Let's just leave it," Ron said, nervously. "Maybe it's a sign that we shouldn't be doing this after all."

 _Enchantments? Charm? Those were strange words to use in normal conversation_ , Harry thought to himself as he finished tying all of the sheets and blankets together to form one long rope. He wrapped one end around the post of the nearby empty bed and pulled on it to make sure it was securely tied in place.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Ron mumbled worriedly. "We're supposed to leave him alone. What if he's awake? How do you think he's going to react? It could be dangerous. For him and for us."

 _You won't have to worry about that much longer_ , Harry muttered to himself. He heaved the rest of makeshift rope out the window and peered down. To his utter disappointment, the rope didn't reach the ground. He'd have to climb down the rope as far as he could, jump the rest of the way, and just hope that he didn't injure himself any further on the way down.

"Who are you, Hermione?" Fred asked sarcastically. "I think she's rubbed off on you more than you realize, mate."

"Hey!" Ron grumbled. "Stop being such a prat!"

"Ronnikins," George started. "Don't start chickening out on us now. This was your idea after all."

"I know, but now that I think about it, I'm not so sure-" said Ron, but he never finished.

He threw his legs over the windowsill, grabbed onto the rope, and was just about to climb down when the door burst suddenly opened.

"What the-" Fred and George exclaimed as the door hit the dresser that was blocking it. Harry didn't wait to see what happened next. He heaved himself off the windowsill and started to propel himself down the rope.

"Bloody hell!" many voices suddenly called out as several dark shadowy figures burst into the room, finally knocking the dresser over with a thunderous crash. Harry flinched at the unexpected noise and very nearly lost his grip on the rope. A loud commotion of running footsteps erupted, and within a half a second, Harry felt a pair of hands yank him back through the window.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ron yelled sternly, pulling Harry harshly back into the room. Both boys fell to the floor with a crash as Harry lost his balance and landed on top of the red-haired boy. The two older red-haired boys leaned over and grabbed Harry by the arms, raising him off of Ron and pulling him up to his feet.

"Get off me!" Harry snapped angrily, with more confidence than he felt, trying to yank his arms out of the boys' firm grasps. It was harder than he thought.

"Stop being so dramatic, Harry," Fred muttered as the twins struggled to maintain control over Harry. Harry didn't catch Fred's sarcasm, and instead, fought harder against them.

"I said, GET OFF!" Harry shouted defensively. A surge of energy immediately swept over him, and all of a sudden, both boys simultaneously let go of Harry and jumped back several feet in surprise. The familiar wave of dizziness that frequently accompanied his freakish abilities swept over Harry as he fell back to the ground, landing on his hands and knees, panting and out of breath. He immediately scooted as far away from the group of red-heads as possible, making sure to never turn his back on them. He stared at the ground, refusing to make any eye contact with anybody.

"Ouch!" Fred and George exclaimed, staring at Harry in astonishment as they cradled their sore hands.

"You _shocked_ us," George muttered in disbelief.

Harry gasped as he realized what he'd done. It was turning into another disaster!

"N-n-no, I didn't," Harry insisted, shaking his head in denial as he continued to stare firmly at the floor, though he couldn't keep the look of shock off his own face. _Get yourself under control,_ he muttered firmly to himself. He wiped at the beads of sweat that were pouring down his face.

"Yes, you _did_ ," Fred said disconcertedly, eyeing him suspiciously. "And it _really_ hurt."

"S-sorry," Harry muttered, backing away even further. "I-I-I d-didn't mean to."

"What do you think you're doing?" Ron asked again, though more calmly this time as he sat up cautiously and looked at Harry with a mixture of frustration and curiosity.

Harry instinctively looked over his shoulder, looking for the person Ron was talking to as he was not used to kids his age actually speaking to him. It was a few seconds before he realized Ron was talking to him. Was he expecting an answer?

"Well?" Fred and George said simultaneously, towering over Harry, though maintaining their distance from him.

"What?" Harry gasped in confusion.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" Ron asked, staring at Harry in disbelief.

"O-of course not," Harry spat defensively, as if that was the stupidest idea in the world.

"Well, then, what were you doing on the window ledge?" Fred asked.

Harry hesitated, unsure of what he should say. Did the boy actually expect a response from him? Most of the school-age children he'd ever encountered didn't, and in fact, they frequently mocked him whenever he did respond. What was going on? Were they mocking him now, or were they genuinely asking him a question?

"Well?" George repeated.

"I… I was just… leaving," Harry mumbled, disappointment evident in his voice that the boy had foiled his escape plan.

"Wait, you're running away?" Fred asked aghast.

"Are you serious?" George blurted out in incredulity.

"After everything my parents have done for you?" Ron asked in disconcertment.

"What are you talking about?" Harry replied, his words laced with more confidence than he actually felt.

"My mum and dad have spent the last week and a half at your bedside, taking care of you and making sure you didn't _die_. My mum's spent the better part of the last two weeks crying over you, worried that you wouldn't wake up, and you've made my dad a nervous wreck. He's even taken time off work just to make sure you were okay. You can't just leave without saying goodbye to them," Ron said exasperated, obviously offended by Harry's words.

"I-I don't understand," Harry said, truly confused as he looked up at the teens.

"What part don't you understand, Harry?" Fred asked seriously. "The part where my parents saved your life, or the part where they're going to devastated if you leave?"

"I didn't think it'd matter," Harry answered truthfully, staring at the ground again.

"Well, it _does_ matter," Ron said. "They care about you, a lot more than you seem to realize."

 _Yeah right,_ Harry thought dully to himself, refusing to believe the boy's words. Now he knew the boy was just making stuff up. No one cared about him. Ever. It was all an act… one giant charade. No one was to be trusted.

"That's not an exaggeration, that's for sure," George said sarcastically, though again, Harry didn't understand the sarcasm because he wasn't used to people directing it at him. "I'm pretty certain we haven't existed for the last ten days. Mum and Dad have barely noticed us at all. Normally, I'd love the inattentiveness, but now, I'm getting just a tiny bit jealous. We've been gone for nine months… you'd think they'd at least _want_ to hang out with his."

"And, to make matters worse, since Mum's been too busy to do any of the housework, they've been making us do all of the cooking and cleaning, _by hand_ , and quite honestly, it's torture," Fred said in anguish.

"Fred!" Ginny snapped in a hushed whisper, elbowing the teen in the stomach quite hard. "That was rude and insensitive! Don't say that in front of Harry!"

There was an awkward silence in the room as everyone stared at Harry, who continued to stare at the floor. Harry fretted over what would happen next. What did these teens want with him? Were they going to hurt him? If that was the case, he wished they would just get it over with. Or worse, were they going to get their parents? Would they tell on him? What would Mr. and Mrs. Weasley do once they found out he had tried to escape? How would they punish him for trying to run away?

"Well, now that the ice has been awkwardly broken," one of the taller red-head boys began, a small smile spreading on his face as he stretched his right hand out towards Harry. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Fred."

Harry frowned in uncertainty, caught off guard by Fred's words and actions. There wasn't any malice in the boy's voice, and he seemed to genuinely want to shake Harry's hand. Harry froze and held his breath in trepidation, unsure of what to do next.

"And I'm George," the other tall red-headed boy announced, also smiling and reaching his hand out for Harry to shake. Harry realized that Fred and George were identical twins.

Harry looked on in confusion, hesitant of what to do next as both boys continued to hold their hands out for Harry to shake. Should he shake their hands? Did they really want Harry to shake their hands, or were they just messing with him? Was this just a joke meant to cause Harry harm and embarrassment? Or, were they being genuine? Regardless, he wasn't used to shaking people's hands, as he typically avoided greeting people at all costs.

"Harry, are you okay?" George asked uncertainly, exchanging a worried glance with his twin as he continued to patiently hold out his hand towards Harry.

Should he shake their hands? He chose not to.

"Well, that was awkward," Fred mumbled, clumsily pocketing his hand as his twin brother did the same. Harry frowned even further as he realized the boys hadn't meant any harm by it. The boys' cheeks reddened. Did Harry actually embarrass them? He certainly hadn't meant to.

"This is our younger sister Ginny," George continued, motioning towards the only girl in the room. Ginny smiled reassuringly and gave Harry a small wave.

"And we'd introduce you to Ron, but it seems you two have already met," Fred said casually.

"Hi," Ron said, his tone much softer than it was minutes earlier.

There was a distant voice drifting in from the hallway. It sounded like a person was calling someone's name.

"Bloody hell! It's Mum! We've been caught!" Fred whispered in horror, diving under Ron's bed seemingly in an attempt to hide. George threw himself on top of Ron's bed and instantly disappeared as he rolled off the other side of the bed and crouched out of sight. Ginny ran to the window and immediately began pulling the makeshift rope back into the room while Ron untied the rope from the bedpost. Together, they shoved the blankets into a large pile in a corner of the room and repositioned them so that the tied knots were hidden out of sight. Harry stayed frozen in place, fear pulsing through every part of his body as he dreaded what would happen next.

Within seconds, the door slammed open. Harry jumped unexpectedly at the noise, throwing his arms up in defense. Before he knew it, a flash of light erupted from his arms and the door slammed shut once more, this time by a seemingly invisible force.

Ron and Ginny gasped, both staring at Harry with identical looks of amazement.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley yelled from behind the door. The doorknob shook as the woman attempted to unlock the door manually. "Harry, dear, are you alright?"

Harry was frozen, his eyes widened in terror as he realized what he had just done… again. He'd just made the door shut slam shut on its own accord, with four people in the room as witnesses to his freakish behavior. What would they do to him when they realized how much of a freak he really was? Or, had they already realized that he was a freak and were going to punish him because of it?

"I-I-I'm sorry," Harry stuttered, shaking his head in utter regret. _Get yourself under control_ , he muttered to himself. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his knees. He didn't want another repeat of what happened back in London, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop it from happening again.

"Harry, it's okay. It's just my parents," Ron's voice drifted in his ear. When Harry looked up, Ron was kneeling in front of him. Ginny was standing by the door, and Fred and George had both crawled out from underneath Ron's bed. Everyone was looking at him with concern, which just confused Harry even further. Shouldn't they be terrified of him? He was dangerous. Harry didn't realize it, but his entire body was shaking in terror.

Harry jumped once more as someone started knocking on the door again.

"Harry, will you please unlock the door?" Mr. Weasley asked calmly from the other side.

"Harry?" Ron asked, reaffirming what his father said.

"N-n-n-no, please," Harry gasped in a terrified whisper, shaking his head and trembling in fear as he stared at the door in trepidation.

"We just want to make sure that you're safe, Harry," Mrs. Weasley's voice trembled from behind the door. "Please, open up."

"N-n-no," Harry gasped, shaking his head in terror as he began subconsciously rocking back and forth as he continued to cradle his knees to his chest. He buried his head in his knees again, praying he would simply disappear. Then he got an idea. He just had to get to his feet before he could carry his new plan out.

"Harry, they won't hurt you," Ron said calmly.

"Y-y-yes, they will," Harry stammered, unable to prevent the tears sliding down his face.

"What are you talking about, Harry?" George asked quietly, all desire to stay hidden and out of sight now out of his mind.

"They're- they're g-going to be s-so m-mad at me," Harry explained anxiously.

"Why would they be mad at you?" Fred asked confusedly.

"For w-what I did," Harry said, furiously swiping at his eyes in embarrassment. He couldn't believe he was acting so childish. "For tr-trying to e-escape."

"No, Harry, they're just worried about you," Ginny said gently, cautiously taking a few steps to stand in front of Harry.

"Harry, they just want to know that you're okay," Ron said gently.

"P-please, j-just s-stay away from me. I-I d-don't w-want to h-hurt you again," Harry hiccupped through frustrated tears.

Harry saw a flash of light suddenly erupt on the other side of the door. He gasped in surprise and forced himself to close his eyes, as he was trying everything he could to stay in control. He couldn't, no, he _wouldn't_ let anything else freakish happen.

The next thing he knew, the door flung open once more and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came dashing inside.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked hysterically when she saw Harry sitting on the ground. Harry looked up, expecting to see an angry look on her face. Instead, she was staring at him in concern, and once again, seemed as if she was practicing an enormous amount of self-control to not approach Harry.

"What's going on here?" Mr. Weasley asked in concern and bewilderment, his eyes glancing back and forth between the pile of blankets, Harry, the rest of the children, and Harry again.

"Nothing," Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny answered simultaneously, making it seem all the more suspicious.

"Nothing?" Mr. Weasley asked skeptically, raising his eyebrows in wariness and crossing his arms.

"But Kingsley said he saw Harry-" Mrs. Weasley began, but she cut herself off promptly as realization dawned on her face. She had said too much, and Harry hadn't missed the mistake.

"Harry, are you okay?" Mrs. Weasley asked gently, taking a few steps forward and crouching down to Harry's eye level.

Harry paused, unsure of what to say. There was another awkward silence, and Harry felt several pairs of eyes on him. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked softly, awaiting an answer.

Keeping his eyes focused on the floor underneath him, Harry slowly nodded.

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Weasley asked worriedly, standing back up but refusing to take her eyes off Harry.

"Y-y-yes, ma'am," he stuttered uncomfortably, wiping the tears from the rest of his face with the sleeve of his pajama shirt.

"Why are you four in here?" Mrs. Weasley asked sternly, turning on her feet and standing to address the four red-headed teens in the room. "I clearly remember asking all of you to leave Harry alone. And why have all of the sheets and blankets disappeared off the beds? And why is Ron's dresser on the floor?"

"We… er… we were playing a game," Fred explained, looking at his twin for support.

"Yeah," George joined in, playing along. "Hide and seek."

"Hide and seek?" Mr. Weasley asked, caught off guard by the odd answer.

"You were playing _hide and seek_? I thought you were all a bit _old_ for that game?" Mrs. Weasley asked suspiciously.

"We are, but there's nothing to do around here, and we've been so bored," Fred answered.

"At this point, we're desperate. We'll do anything if it helps us pass the time away," George added.

"But you still haven't answered your mother's first question. Why are you all in here?" Mr. Weasley repeated.

There was an uncomfortable pause, as Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny all exchanged worried glances. Harry continued to stare at the floor in front of him, refusing to look up or make eye contact with any of them. His fists were clenched tightly into balls as he tried frantically to stop himself from having another panic attack. He was going to get in so much trouble for trying to climb out the window. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to be extremely upset with him when they found out he'd been trying to escape. He knew it. Why had be been so stupid?

"It's all my fault," Ron burst out upon seeing Harry's frantic state. "We were playing hide and seek. I was looking for a really good hiding spot, and I… I asked Fred and George to break in here. I figured Ginny would never think to look in here, especially since we're not allowed to be in here. Harry was sleeping, and we accidentally woke him up. He fell out of his bed… I think he was surprised to see us… I moved my dresser in front of the door hoping that no one else would come in here, and I pulled the covers off of both beds to try and make the perfect hiding spot. Ginny had just found us when you two showed up."

"Seriously?" Mrs. Weasley asked, a look of skepticism and disbelief on her face.

Ron nodded. "It was stupid, really. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry," he mumbled.

A silence swept across the room as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged meaningful glances. Then both parents turned their attention back to Harry.

"Harry, is that what happened?" Mr. Weasley asked softly.

Harry was confused. Why were these people lying for him? Fred, George, and Ron had all made up some insanely ridiculous explanation as to why the dresser was on the floor and why sheets and blankets were off the bed… but why? Were they sincerely trying to get him out of trouble? And if so, why? What was the point of making up some preposterous story, knowing that they could get in trouble themselves for lying to their parents in the first place, simply to get Harry out of trouble? Or, on the flip side, were they just messing with Harry? Were they trying to soften him up now so that they could catch him off guard later and attack him, like Dudley typically did? Harry wasn't sure what to think of it, but for now, he'd play along too if it meant staying out of trouble.

Harry nodded.

"Well, dear, I'm glad you're okay. That's all that matters," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling reassuringly at Harry, who still refused to look up from the floor. Harry couldn't believe she fell for the story her kids told her.

"As for the rest of you, since you are so _desperate for something to do_ ," Mrs. Weasley said quite sternly, purposefully accentuating the last five words as she turned towards her children once again. Harry had a feeling there was more meaning to her words than she was letting on. "You can put the dresser back and remake the beds. And when you're done with that, I have a long list of chores for you to finish before you go to bed. The living room needs dusted and the bathrooms need scrubbed, among other things."

"But, Mum!" Fred and George exclaimed, shock and disappointment evident in their voices. They were clearly in shock. Ron and Ginny stayed quiet.

"You're the ones who made the poor choice to come in here and trash this room. Now you have to suffer the consequences," Mrs. Weasley replied matter-of-factly, crossing her arms.

Harry felt extremely guilty as he watched the four teenagers get to work on remaking the beds in the room. No one said a word or complained as they picked up sheet after sheet off the floor, untied the knots, and neatly remade the beds. He noticed that they were all being very careful to position themselves in a way so that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley couldn't see all of the knots that Harry had tied in the sheets. If the elder Weasleys had noticed that the covers were all tied together, they would have realized the lie that everyone had told.

Harry was so caught up in his guilt of knowing that the Weasley children would most likely be spending most of their evening completing tedious chores because of his thoughtlessness that he didn't even realize Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were standing in front of him until it was too late.

"Let's get you up off the floor, dear," Mrs. Weasley said soothingly as she caught Harry's attention. Harry flinched forcefully as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley each took one of his arms and gently lifted him off the floor.

The idea that he had gotten earlier when the teens had first discovered him popped back into his head. This was his chance, he realized. If he was going to escape this house alive, he'd have to take it now.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," Harry bravely said, speaking clearly for the first time that evening. "But I think I can take it from here."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged surprised glances, and Harry was relieved they hadn't suspected anything… yet.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling reassuringly.

The Weasley parents slowly released Harry's arms. Harry took one shaky step forward, closed his eyes, imagined downtown London vividly in his mind, and abruptly turned on his feet.


	10. Chapter 10: Small Steps

**Chapter 10: Small Steps**

"Harry, no!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed in stunned shock as everyone else in the room gasped in surprise. Before Harry knew it, his forehead collided sickeningly with the corner of the nightstand, and his world descended into blackness.

 _He was five-years-old again, surrounded in total darkness in his tiny cupboard. His Aunt Marge, who was Uncle Vernon's sister, burst into the closet uninvited, throwing open the door with haste as she towered over Harry threateningly._

 _"_ You _," she sneered with downright disgust as she glowered hatefully at him. "What are you still doing here?"_

 _"I live here," Harry answered innocently, not catching the dripping sarcasm in his unrelated aunt's voice._

 _"Well, get off your lazy arse, boy. My suitcases are in my car. Go get them and take them up to my room. I just spent hours driving to get here, and I'm not about to bring them in myself. Well, what are you waiting around for? Go! NOW!"_

 _Harry sighed miserably as he got to his feet, though he was careful not to let his aunt see reaction. He had just spent the entire day scrubbing the house clean from top to bottom, with no breaks or meals in between, and he was very sore and tired. But, of course, he had to do as he was told, so he didn't argue with the woman. Obediently, he took a step towards the door, but found himself lying facedown on the hallway floor in anguish just moments later. Aunt Marge had whacked his shins with her cane, causing him to lose his footing and trip._

 _"You were too slow," Aunt Marge snapped nastily, ignoring Harry's painful cry. Harry thought he heard her chuckle with delight overhead. "Get a move on now,_ freak _, or I won't be afraid to use this on you again!"_

Ignoring his throbbing shins, Harry jumped to his feet and ran out the front door, retrieving his aunt's belongings from her new black BMW as quickly and carefully as possible. As he began dragging a particularly large suitcase that was nearly twice his size up the staircase, his Aunt Petunia appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

 _"Don't you_ dare _hit the walls with her things, boy. If I find a single scratch on the wall, you'll be sorry you ever lived," she snapped at Harry in a stern warning before hollering politely up the staircase for his cousin. "Duddikins, sweetums, your Aunt Marge is here. Come on down and say "hi" to your favorite auntie!"_

 _Without waiting for a response from her son, Aunt Petunia retreated to the kitchen, where Aunt Marge and Uncle Vernon were already boisterously devouring a large bottle of brandy._

 _Dudley's bedroom door burst open and a thunderous rumble of commotion met Harry's ears as Dudley's particularly hefty body came thumping down the hallway. He saw Harry standing halfway up the stairs, struggling to clutch the bulky suitcase with care, and a maniacal sneer formed on his cousin's face._

 _Harry was too late to react. Dudley came dashing down the stairs, purposefully slamming Harry and the sizeable suitcase into the wall with as much force and strength as possible. Harry wheezed as his body collided with the suitcase, which in turn powerfully smacked the wall, leaving a massive hole in its place. To make the entire situation far worse than it already was, Dudley kicked the wall even harder, making the opening even larger than it already was. Dudley smiled at Harry wickedly and raised his eyebrows in amusement before yelling for his parents._

 _"Mum! Dad! Come quick! Harry put a hole in the wall!" he shouted, his voice suddenly sounding suspiciously somber. Aunt Petunia and Aunt Marge swiftly reached the staircase, and they both reacted in revulsion and dismay._

 _"You clumsy idiot!" Aunt Petunia screeched irately at the top of her lungs, a look of intense anger flashing across her face. "Look at what you did this time!"_

 _"I-I-I d-didn't do it," Harry gasped, fear overpowering his senses as he realized his cousin had set him up._

 _"Yes, he did! I saw him, Mummy! He did it on purpose!" Dudley exclaimed, his face feigned shock as he pointed accusingly back and forth from the opening in the wall to Harry._

 _"That'll cost your uncle nearly a day's worth of wages to have it repaired! You fool! You lazy mutt!" Aunt Petunia raged on, wagging her finger dangerously in Harry's face._

 _"But I-I didn't-" Harry tried to explain innocuously, but it was hopeless. His aunt refused to listen to him._

 _"Who did it, then, boy?_ Casper _?" Aunt Marge sneered sardonically, chuckling at her own joke._

 _"It was D-Dudley," Harry whispered, staring at his feet in shame. He realized instantly afterwards that he had said the wrong thing. He wasn't supposed to accuse Dudley of things, no matter what. Now he'd be in even worse trouble._

 _"He's lying!" Dudley shrieked, stomping his tremendous feet with fury. "I didn't do it! Mummy, you believe me, don't you?"_

 _"Of course you didn't do it, sweetums," Aunt Petunia replied softly before rounding back on Harry. She was glaring at him with such hatred, Harry recoiled under her intense stare. "Dudley, go get your father. I'll let your uncle decide what happens to you this time, freak."_

 _"Boy," Uncle Vernon growled, stomping into the hallway moments later with Dudley trailing behind him. He appeared at the bottom of the stairs alongside his two aunts, and the tone of his voice meant Dudley had already filled his father in on what had happened. Uncle Vernon's face reddened in anger as he carefully examined the hole from his position at the bottom of the staircase. Everyone was silent as they waited for his uncle's reaction. It wasn't pretty._

 _"In your cupboard! NOW!" his uncle raged, turning back to Harry. Harry could tell the man was extremely furious._

 _"But Dudley-" Harry started, but he was abruptly cut off by a sharp strike across the face by his uncle, who had reached up the stairs and slammed Harry in the face with the palm of his hand. Harry shakily raised his right hand to soothe the now throbbing cheek._

 _"Don't you dare talk to us like that ever again," Uncle Vernon scorned hatefully._

 _"I-I-I-I'm s-s-sorry," Harry cried, tears falling down his cheeks as he looked on hopelessly at his relatives, who were all gleaming at him with vengeance._

 _"Now, get in your cupboard!" Uncle Vernon shouted at Harry._

 _Trembling with fear, Harry dropped the suitcase from where he was and scurried back down the stairs as quickly as possible. He dashed to his cupboard, shut the door, and flung himself onto the floor. He scooted his back up against the wall and pulled his knees to this chest, rocking nervously back and forth. He was in big trouble this time, yet it had all been Dudley's fault. Dudley had purposefully gotten him in trouble. It was always Dudley's fault, yet he somehow always got the blame._

 _Harry gasped in alarm when the door opened without warning five minutes later. His uncle was standing in the doorway, ferocity and rage radiating from his body. Harry gulped in apprehension._

 _"Vernon, I think the boy clearly deserves a good thrashing," Aunt Marge's voice suggested. She was standing right outside the cupboard and sounded as if she was egging her brother on._

 _"I've tried beating him, Marge. Nothing works," Uncle Vernon said impatiently through clenched teeth. He seemed to be trying very hard to control his temper in front of his sister. "He's a lost cause."_

"Try this," Aunt Marge said gleefully. Harry watched in despair as she handed Uncle Vernon her large black cane. "That ought to do the trick."

 _"This?" Uncle Vernon asked, chuckling and looking at the offered cane as if it were a joke._

 _"It works on the mutts at home just fine. Puts them in their place, this cane does. It ought to teach the boy a lesson."_

 _Uncle Vernon shrugged his shoulders in agreement, grabbed the cane, and raised it over his head threateningly. Harry's eyes widened in horror was he realized what was about to happen. He raised his arms in front of his face in an attempt to protect himself._

 _But the pain didn't come. His uncle seemed to be waiting for something. What was his uncle doing? Was he rethinking the entire situation?_

 _"Wait, Vernon," Aunt Marge's voice rang in his ears. Harry looked up, hopeful that they'd changed their minds for some reason, and he saw Aunt Marge glaring menacingly at him. "Make him take his shirt off first."_

"What?" Uncle Vernon asked, lowering the cane in surprise and looking at Aunt Marge in curiosity. "Why?"

 _"It'll get the message across more clearly," Aunt Marge said, her eyes gleaming with cheery._

 _"Right. Take off your shirt, boy," his uncle growled at Harry. Harry frowned in confusion, not understanding what was happening. Why did his uncle want him to take off his shirt?_

 _"I said, take off your shirt," his uncle repeated, even nastier sounding than before. "NOW!"_

 _Harry did as his uncle told him, pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest, trying to block it from the cold draft drifting into the cupboard._

 _"On your stomach, boy," his uncle snarled._

 _Harry froze in terror. What was his uncle planning to do to him? What should he do? Should he obey and face the oncoming punishment, or should he stay still and try to protect himself? He didn't have time to make a choice as his uncle forcibly grabbed his right forearm and flung him facedown on the floor. The next thing he knew, unbearable pain shot across his back as the cane came bearing down on him._

 _"Really, Vernon? You call that a good thrashing? That wasn't nearly hard enough," his Aunt Marge's voice said from somewhere above him._

 _"Please," Harry gasped, trying to plead with his uncle as his back burned in misery. "Please, Uncle Vernon, please don't do it."_

 _Harry cried out in pain as his uncle hit him with the cane again, only this time with much more force. Terrified tears streamed down Harry's face._

 _"Seriously, Vernon," Aunt Marge sighed, rolling her eyes in annoyance as she shook her head in disappointment. "Again, that was too weak. You are too soft with him. I've always said that. You really have to_ mean _it. Put some real force behind it, or he'll never learn!"_

Uncle Vernon, who was now unbeknownst to Harry in a rage over his sister's repetitive nagging, growled and swung at Harry again, causing Harry to scream out in pain even louder than before. Uncle Vernon whacked Harry with the cane as hard as he could repeatedly, over and over, for nearly an hour straight.

 _When he finally stopped, Harry lay motionless on the floor, panting and breathless, moaning in agony as he wiped his tear-strung eyes with the back of his hand. His bare back was covered in deep welts and nasty bruises from where the cane had left its mark. Dark red blood pooled on the floor beneath him and was splattered all over the white walls._

 _"Don't do it again, boy," his uncle growled before storming out of the cupboard. He was about to slam the door shut when Aunt Marge's strong bony hand caught the door._

"Harry!"

Someone was calling his name. A frantic voice was shouting at him from somewhere above. But who was it?

"Harry!"

 _Strange_ , Harry thought bleakly. He didn't remember that particular voice in his memory….

"Harry, wake up!"

Harry took a sharp intake of breath as he realized someone was shaking him awake. Now panic-stricken, he instantaneously sat up and thrust the pair of hands off him. He surveyed his surroundings as he blurrily looked around the room. Someone immediately placed his glasses in his right hand. As Harry shoved them on his face, he realized with humiliation that his face was wet… he'd been crying again in his sleep. He hoped no one had noticed. The last thing he wanted was to give someone another reason to pick on him.

 _You're weak and pathetic_ , his uncle's voice rang through his ears. Harry shook his head frantically to clear his mind, furiously wiped his eyes dry with the sleeve of his pajama shirt, and looked up in surprise to see Ron standing over him.

"Are you alright, mate?" Ron asked in concern as he stood over him. Harry's face turned bright red with humiliation as he avoided making any eye contact with Ron. There was no way the boy hadn't seen him crying, but Harry couldn't see any traces of annoyance in Ron's face. "It looked like you were having a nightmare or something."

Harry shuddered in response, looking around the room in a daze while lost in his own thoughts. _If only he knew_ , Harry reflected somberly as he subconsciously wrapped his arms around his chest. It hadn't been a nightmare. He'd been reliving one of his worst memories. He thought he'd blocked that particular memory out, as he hadn't relived it in years. Something about the last few days must have stirred up some of his more awful memories. After a few moments, Harry realized Ron was still standing over him, awaiting a response to his previous question. Harry nodded his head in false reassurance and dropped his arms to his sides.

Looking around once more, he noticed that radiant sunlight streamed through the window, signaling that it was early afternoon. Harry frowned in disappointment. It seemed all he'd been doing lately was sleeping his days away.

"Sorry if I'm bothering you," Ron said apologetically, mistaking the disappointed look on Harry's face as directed towards him.

"B-bothering… me?" Harry asked in confusion, puzzled as to why the boy would be concerned that _he_ was bothering Harry. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

"Yeah," Ron continued tentatively. "Mum asked me to stay in here with you, just in case you needed anything. I promise, I've stayed on my half of the room the entire time, and I wouldn't have woken you up, but it sounded like you were hurt… are you sure you're okay?"

Harry nodded, still avoiding eye contact with the boy as he feigned interest in his bed covers. Why was the boy being so friendly?

"Mum is downstairs right now making lunch. Do you want me to let her know you're awake?" Ron asked anxiously.

Harry's eyes widened in unease at Ron's offer, and he quickly shook his head in reply.

"N-no, p-please," Harry stammered unnervingly. That was the last thing he wanted.

Ron slightly chuckled, obviously find some humor in Harry's words, but Harry didn't know what to make of it. It didn't seem as if the boy was taunting him, but Harry couldn't be too certain.

"How's your head?" Ron asked seriously, peering at Harry in trepidation. "That was quite a fall you took last night."

Harry subconsciously reached for his forehead, which was aching quite ferociously, and found that it was covered in bandages once again. Harry groaned in dread and fell back onto his pillows, covering his eyes with his hands in mortification as memories from the night before came flooding back. He had tried and failed to escape down the stairs and through the window, used his freakish abilities on the Weasley family at least three times, and attempted to escape yet again, but it had all been for nothing. He couldn't do anything right. He was stuck here. Would he ever be able to leave?

"It's okay, Harry," Ron began timidly, his voice gentle yet sober as he lightly sat down at the foot of Harry's bed. Harry stiffened at the boy's movement, finding it extremely unnerving that the boy was choosing to stay in such close proximity with him, though he was slightly taken aback by how concerned the boy's voice seemed. "You have nothing to worry about."

"No, it's not okay," Harry said apprehensively, finally speaking clearly for the first time since he awoke. He stared at the wall beside him as his eyes began to tear up again against his will. His freakish powers had been on full display once again last night. The same question that had been bothering him since he first arrived raced through his worried mind once more. What was the family going to do to him as punishment for his abnormal behavior?

"What do you mean?" Ron asked softly.

"It's never going to be okay," Harry added, albeit absentmindedly as he fretted about all of the ways the Weasleys were going to chastise him for his reckless actions. As an afterthought, Harry couldn't believe he was being so truthful with the boy he hardly knew, but at this point, Harry didn't have anything else to lose. None of it would matter in the end, after all.

"Why do you think that?" Ron asked timidly, not taking his eyes off Harry.

Harry shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, signaling that he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

"It doesn't matter," he whispered, shrugging his shoulders once more and staring at his blanket as he wiped his face once more with the sleeve of his pajamas. _Nothing matters,_ he thought dishearteningly to himself _. I don't matter._

"No one is mad at you, Harry," Ron stated slowly, though Harry didn't believe him for an instant.

There was an awkward pause. Ron never took his eyes off Harry, but Harry didn't say anything in response. He simply continued to stare pointlessly at his blanket, absentmindedly smoothing the covers with his fingers. He just didn't know what the boy wanted from him. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? Why was the boy still here anyways? Couldn't he just leave Harry alone like everyone else always did?

"What you did last night… that was all our fault," Ron said seriously, in an apologetic tone. "Really, quite frankly to be honest with you, it was mostly my fault."

"What?" Harry asked blankly, all attempts to limit conversation with the red-haired boy long forgotten. He was so caught off guard by the boy's unexpected answer that he looked up from his blanket in surprise and finally met Ron's gaze for the first time since back in London.

"Fred, George, Ginny, and I… we shouldn't have bothered you, mate. Mum, Dad, Madam Pomfrey... they all warned us several times to leave you alone-" Ron began remorsefully.

 _They warned them to leave me alone. They must know I'm dangerous,_ Harry thought despondently, looking back down at his covers as he continued to absentmindedly smooth his covers. Harry didn't know why he felt so… disappointed, however, by the boy's comments. It's not like this was the first time he'd ever heard that from others… no one _ever_ wanted to be around him… they all always acted like he had the plague or something….

 _They're right,_ his uncle's voice sneered in his head as cold chills ran down his back. _Who would want to be around you, anyways? You are insignificant. Meaningless. Useless. Not worth a single breath._

"But we didn't listen," Ron continued, noticing with alarm the abrupt change in Harry's behavior but refusing to give up. "And you wound up getting hurt because of it. I never should have suggested come in here to check up on you. You couldn't help what happened last night, Harry, and I'm sorry for getting you in that mess in the first place."

Harry looked up at Ron, frowning in bafflement. Ron's last few words rang through his ears repeatedly, with confusion seeping in. ' _You couldn't help what happened_ …' What was he talking about? Did he know something Harry didn't? Once again, Harry felt like these people were hiding something from him. _But what was it?_ He couldn't quite figure it out….

Ron seemed to have noticed what he said, as his eyes widened in disconcertment and his face turned a bright shade of red. Ron hopped off Harry's bed and immediately looked around the room uncomfortably, as if searching for something to say to change the subject.

"Er… so… how do you like the room?" Ron asked awkwardly.

"What?" Harry asked, taken by surprise by the randomness of the boy's question.

"My bedroom. Do you like it?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Oh… yeah, it's great," Harry replied honestly.

"I hope you don't mind the color," Ron said uncertainly, staring at Harry once again to gauge his reaction. "It was decorated in my favorite sports team, but Mum and Dad made me take the posters down. They seemed to think that you wouldn't like them."

"I- I wouldn't have minded," Harry replied truthfully.

Ron grinned in response.

"I slept in here last night. I hope you don't care," Ron said.

"Why… why would I?" Harry asked in bewilderment, looking up at Ron. "It's your room."

"Yes, it is," Ron said, slightly chuckling at Harry's response once more. "I've been sleeping in my older brother Percy's room for the last several days so that you could have this room all to yourself, but after what happened last night, Mum and Dad thought it might be a good idea for me to sleep in here again. They're really worried about you, especially since you keep somehow hurting yourself-"

Harry's face flushed red with embarrassment. It's not like he did it on purpose….

"But Dad thinks ultimately you're afraid of them, and he doesn't want to make you feel any more uncomfortable than you already are, so he told Mum to give you some space."

Harry stiffened. Yes, he _was_ afraid of the Weasleys, particularly the adults, but he hadn't meant to make it seem that obvious. He needed to be more inconspicuous.

"Personally, I also think they're afraid you're going to try to escape again… though I don't know why they would think that, really..." Ron said sarcastically, smiling as he said the last part.

Harry's eyes widened in concern. Did Mr. and Mrs. Weasley know the truth after all? Did they know he tried to run away last night, on more than one occasion? Did they know how much of a freak he really was?

"Anyways, I volunteered to stay with you, so that you have someone here just in case you need anything. So, if you need anything, just let me know, okay? Personally, I'd love any excuse to stay anywhere but in Percy's room," Ron said, hopping back onto his bed and lying back on his pillow with his hands tucked behind his head. "He just started a new job, and he won't shut up about it. He's been cornering everybody each chance he gets, trying to get anyone to listen to him boast about his new position in the Ministry. He's a bit annoying, if you ask me."

Harry rested his head on his own pillows and tiredly rubbed his eyes as Ron rambled on. He'd never had anyone talk to him this much in his entire life. But the real question was… why? Why was Ron being so forthcoming and cordial with him? Was he told to try to befriend Harry in an attempt to brainwash him? Was this all part of some larger plot that Harry didn't know of? Harry couldn't trust him.

"But, if you'd rather I leave, I will," Ron said awkwardly, once again looking at Harry to gauge his reaction. "Mum just doesn't want you left alone, so I'll have to go get her instead if you want me to leave."

"No!" Harry exclaimed worriedly, immediately sitting back up and looking up at Ron anxiously. He took a deep breath to calm himself down. "I-I mean, p-please s-stay."

Ron smiled widely, though Harry wasn't sure why. Why would he _want_ to stay with Harry?

Harry's stomach rumbled uncontrollably. He was starving, as he hadn't yet eaten or drank anything since he arrived. While there was plenty of food and drinks on his nightstand table, he didn't trust eating or drinking any of it. He was certain Mrs. Weasley had drugged the food and drinks or laced them with poison. Why else would she go out of her way to prepare him food? He needed to eat something soon, however, but how? With the exception of last night, he was under constant supervision, and after what happened yesterday, it didn't seem they were ever going to leave him alone again.

After a few moments of an uncomfortable silence, he heard Ron take a deep breath.

"Ijustwantedtosaythankyouforsavingmylife," Ron mumbled quickly.

Harry raised his eyebrows in perplexity, completely caught off guard by Ron's words. He stared at Ron in bewilderment.

"Er… what?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"For saving my life back in London," Ron explained awkwardly, shifting uneasily on his bed as his cheeks burned bright red. The boy seemed to be slightly embarrassed. "There's no way I would have made it out of there alive without your help. I wanted to talk to you about it last night, but there just didn't seem to be a right time to do it... Fred and George still tease me relentlessly about the entire thing, so I didn't really want to say it in front of them… but… er… thanks, mate."

Harry frowned in confusion. He'd never been thanked before, let alone received any type of positive affirmation from his peers, and he didn't know how to deal with it. So he just shrugged it off.

"I think I did more harm than good," Harry muttered under his breath, staring darkly at his blankets. He thought Ron couldn't hear him, but he was proven wrong.

"Why would you say that?" Ron asked curiously.

Harry looked up at Ron suspiciously, skeptical of the boy's true intentions. After a few moments of looking the boy up and down, however, Harry realized that he wasn't taunting him at all, as would normally be the case. He seemed to genuinely want to know.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, his gaze darting back downwards as he brushed off the boy's question.

"Yes, it does," Ron said patiently.

"No, it doesn't," Harry argued.

"Yes, it _does_ matter," Ron said firmly.

Harry stared at Ron with a look of astonishment. _This boy wasn't going to let it go, was he?_

"Why did you say that?" Ron repeated calmly.

 _Well, let's see… I nearly got myself killed, hurt a half a dozen people in process, blew up several buildings, and now I'm stuck here to surely die a miserable death_ , Harry thought darkly to himself.

"It's just… it was all my fault," Harry said, without going into detail.

"How?" Ron pressed, unwearyingly awaiting an answer from Harry. Harry couldn't believe how tolerant and patient Ron was being with him.

When Harry didn't say anything, Ron continued talking.

"I was the one who got lost, Harry," he explained. "I was the one who was stupid enough to walk down a dark alleyway by myself in the middle of London. And I was the one who was too weak and pathetic to handle a group of thugs by myself. So, how is that all _your_ fault?"

"I… I should have stopped them earlier when I had the chance," Harry said, referring to the gang of teens. His voice sounded really small as he continued staring at his blanket. "Instead… _things_ happened… and people got hurt… and now I'm stuck here…"

"No, you're wrong," Ron said reassuringly. "No one else was hurt, besides you, and all of the buildings were put back together so it looked like nothing had ever happened in the first place. You couldn't control yourself. It was a total accident. Considering everything you've been through, it's completely understandable."

"What?" Harry asked, glancing at Ron in confusion. He sat up in bed straighter and his eyes flashed with alarm. How did Ron know that he'd lost control back in London? Did he know something Harry didn't? Even worse… did they all know how much of a freak he really was? "What are you talking about?"

"Oh…" Ron said, his face suddenly turning a dark shade of red once again. The boy had obviously said something he hadn't meant to say. "I only meant… er… never mind."

Now Harry _knew_ there was something this boy was hiding from him… that _everyone_ was hiding from him… but what was it?

"Hey, are you going to eat that?" Ron asked, hopping off his bed and gesturing to the breakfast tray lying on the nightstand. It consisted of several pieces of sliced toast on two large plates, a large bowl of applesauce, a large glass of orange juice, a large glass of water, and a steaming bowl of oatmeal. Harry's stomach grumbled hungrily just at the sight of it. While it all smelled delicious, Harry knew there was no way he was going to eat any of it.

Harry shook his head, still fearing the food was drugged. Ron approached the nightstand and picked up a piece of toast.

"Wait!" Harry exclaimed with foreboding, suddenly realizing what Ron was going to do. He couldn't let the boy eat it, no matter how much he didn't trust him. He didn't want the boy hurt again because of him. Surely his parents didn't want to drug or poison their son too!

"What's wrong, mate?" Ron asked in concern, freezing in the middle of trying to heave the toast in his mouth.

"I- I wouldn't eat that if I were you," Harry explained in a rush.

"Why not?" Ron asked in confusion, looking back and forth between Harry and the food in puzzlement. "It's just a piece of toast, Harry. I know it's not the best food in the world, but it's all my family can afford-"

"No, it's not just a piece of toast!" Harry said in exasperation, shaking his head in denial while trying desperately to make the boy understand.

"What are you talking about?" Ron asked, baffled by Harry's suddenly odd behavior.

"She put something in it!" Harry insisted, jumping to his knees in frustration while still remaining on the bed. He was trying to get his point across to the utterly clueless boy, but it seemed to be futile.

"'She put something in it?'" Ron repeated in disbelief, still holding up the uneaten piece of toast. "Who, my mum?"

Harry nodded fervently.

"And why would she do that?" Ron asked in perplexity.

 _Because that's what adults do_ , Harry thought dully to himself. _At least, that's what Aunt Petunia does._

Harry didn't feel comfortable explaining himself to Ron, so he simply shrugged his shoulders in response.

"I don't know," Harry lied unconvincingly.

"Harry, you don't really think my mum was trying to drug you, do you?" Ron asked flabbergasted.

 _Yes_ , Harry thought darkly.

"Because that's just nonsense," Ron continued.

 _No, it's not_ , Harry said to himself. _Aunt Petunia has done it to me several times._ How could he get this boy to understand, without explaining himself to him?

"I'll prove it to you," Ron said bravely. The next thing he knew, Ron shoved the piece of toast in his mouth and swallowed it. Harry gasped in sheer horror, his eyes wide with shock. He couldn't believe how reckless and stupid Ron had just been! Harry had tried to warn him, but he went ahead and consumed the food anyways. He'd surely just poisoned himself, or worse, sentenced himself to death!

But Ron didn't stop there. To Harry's utter astonishment, Ron picked up the bowl of oatmeal, lifted it to his lips, and gulped down the bowl's entire contents within seconds. To make matters worse, Ron grabbed the orange juice and drained the glass of its contents as well.

Harry froze, watching carefully for what would happen next… how would he be able to save the boy when he ultimately succumbed to his untimely death? Did the woman realize that she had unintentionally drugged and poisoned her own son? Would they blame Harry for their son's predicament? A million different scenarios raced through Harry's troubled mind… and none of them ended well for Harry.

Several seconds went by, however, and nothing happened. Ron remained on his feet, staring at Harry with resolve and confidence. Harry frowned in confusion as the seconds turned into minutes and still nothing happened to the boy. Was Ron right? Was the food really safe to eat? Had the woman been telling Harry the truth after all this time?

"See, nothing happened," Ron said, setting the empty dishes back down on the table. "My mum wouldn't hurt a fly. She's a great cook, actually. I'm sure she'd love to make you something better to eat. I could ask her if you want me to. She's just downstairs."

"No!" Harry gasped. That was the last thing he wanted, to be coddled and fussed over by that woman once more. It made him so uncomfortable since he wasn't used to it.

"Well, I guess I could go downstairs and get you something myself if you'd like," Ron suggested, but Harry shook his head. He didn't want to inconvenience the boy, no matter how hungry he currently was.

Harry's throat was extremely dry. Should he risk drinking the water? The food and drinks were prepared by Mrs. Weasley solely for Harry, and Ron hadn't yet shown any symptoms of being drugged or poisoned, so was it all actually safe after all?

His uncontrollable thirst got the best of him. He couldn't stand waiting any longer. He reached out, grabbed the glass of water off the tray, and picked it up. Harry, however, had a very shaky grip on the glass. As he tried to raise it to his lips, the glass slipped from his trembling hands. The glass landed on the tray, emptying its contents all over the place. Harry gasped as he quickly tried to clean up the mess, but in the process, he wound up accidentally knocking the tray full of dishes off the nightstand. In what seemed like slow motion, Harry watched in horror as the tray and dishes fell to the floor with a loud crash. Sounds of breaking glass pierced Harry's ears as the plates, bowls, and glasses instantly shattered into dozens of tiny little pieces all over the floor. The remaining food and water was now splattered all over the floor, the nightstand, Harry's bed, and Harry himself.

Harry gasped, fear pulsing through his veins once more. _What had he done?_ He immediately rolled off the bed, untangled himself from his sheets and blankets, and dropped to his knees in an effort to clean up the mess before Mrs. Weasley came back and found out that he'd broken all of the dishes she'd brought him. She'd surely kill him, as Aunt Petunia had tried on many occasions when Harry had done something as careless as this when he was little.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked anxiously, kneeling next to Harry, who was desperately trying to pick up the broken pieces of glass as fast as possible.

"She's going to _kill_ me!" Harry exclaimed fearfully, picking the glass shards up so quickly that he wasn't watching what he was doing. Ron remained frozen at Harry's side, unsure of how to help him as he watched Harry apprehensively.

"No, she's not, Harry," Ron replied nonchalantly, but Harry immediately brushed his answer off. Ron obviously didn't understand the seriousness of this situation. Hadn't he ever broken a glass before? Of course, perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Weasley treated Ron like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had treated Dudley, so maybe Ron wouldn't understand Harry's dire predicament after all.

"Yes, she is!" Harry answered, hysterically. He was shaking from head to toe in terror, while trying to refrain from going into another full-blown panic attack. "She's going to be so mad at me! She's going to flay me alive!"

Ron stiffened next to Harry. Harry didn't look up as he continued to frantically pick up piece after piece, neglecting to be careful with the sharp shards in his hands.

"Wait, you don't actually think she's _really_ going to kill you, do you?" Ron asked, as realization of Harry's words hit him.

"I broke it all!" Harry explained breathlessly, his hands full of dozens of broken shards at this point, as he tried to explain himself. "The plates, the bowls, the glasses… everything's a ruined mess, and it's all my fault!"

"Harry, people don't just kill each other over stupid broken dishes," Ron said, as if he were pointing out the most obvious and simple thing in the world. "They're just _things_."

"No, you don't _understand_ ," Harry answered frantically, shaking his head as his entire body continued to tremble in fear. "She's going to be so angry with me!"

"Harry, you're being irrational," Ron started, trying to gain Harry's attention, but to no avail. "Just stop and think about what you're doing for a moment. You're not making any sense, mate."

At that moment, the door burst open. Harry gasped as he instinctively squeezed his hands into extremely tight fists. He cried out in agonizing pain when he realized he still had the shards of glass in both hands. He lifted his hands up to evaluate the damage, and blood began to stream freely down both of his arms into the crooks of his elbows.

Harry didn't care about the injuries nor the blood, however. He _knew_ Mrs. Weasley was here to punish him. _This is it_ , Harry thought gloomily to himself. _It's over. I'm dead._

"What's going on in here? I thought I heard something break," Ginny's voice drifted from the doorway. Harry relaxed a little, thankful it was just the little girl for now, and immediately continued to pick up the broken glass, ignoring Ginny in the doorway.

Ginny gasped when she saw Harry on the floor covered in blood. "Are you okay, Harry?"

"No, Harry's _not_ okay," Ron gritted through his teeth as he tried to get Harry to stop, but to no avail. Unbeknownst to Harry, Ron didn't want to touch him, fearful of accidentally making the situation even worse.

"Ginny, go get Mum. Now!" Ron's voice flittered through Harry's ears, but he barely registered it. He was in so much trouble… and he completely deserved it. "Run!"

He didn't hear Ginny yelling frantically for her mother, nor the frenzied footsteps of the twins arriving at Ron's side moments later. Harry was so caught up with worrying about what was going to happen to him if he didn't get the mess cleaned up before Mrs. Weasley saw it.

The next thing he knew, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the doorway only a minute later. Harry froze in horror, his eyes wide in fright.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley gasped, rushing to his side in worry as she saw his arms covered in blood.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry," Harry stuttered, trying to pick up the pieces of glass that he just clumsily dropped again.

"What?" she asked, confused at the scene playing out before her eyes before rounding on her son. "Ron, what's going on?"

"He accidentally broke the dishes, Mum. He was trying to get a drink of water, but he couldn't hold the glass. It fell on the tray, and the tray fell to the floor. It was a complete accident. He didn't mean to do it," Ron explained worriedly, gesturing to the glass scattered on the floor.

"Oh, dear, you poor thing," Mrs. Weasley said empathetically, turning back towards Harry, but Harry ignored her.

"I'll-I'll-I'll r-r-replace it. I-I p-promise," Harry stuttered thoughtlessly. He continued to frantically pick up the broken pieces with his bloody hands, trying to get the entire mess cleaned up as quickly as possible. Maybe if he was fast enough in picking up the mess, she wouldn't be so upset with him.

"Harry, please stop," Mrs. Weasley's voice drifted through his ears, but he barely heard her. He had to get the mess picked up right then and there. He couldn't stop himself. He just couldn't explain it.

"Harry… stop," Mrs. Weasley repeated patiently, in the same temperate tone. Again, Harry didn't listen and he continued to desperately collect the broken pieces of glass.

" _Harry_ ," Mrs. Weasley said once again, more firmly as she kneeled down in front of him. This time, gentle hands grabbed onto both of his wrists. While Harry instinctively clenched his hands into fists once more at the uncomfortable human touch, causing the glass shards to embed even deeper into his skin and therefore cause even further damage to his hands, Mrs. Weasley had finally succeeded in getting Harry to stop.

Harry looked up in confusion, finally snapping out of his panicked state. Mrs. Weasley was kneeling right in front of him, looking at him with an extremely worried look on her face. Ron was standing directly behind her, looking slightly relieved that Harry had finally snapped out of it. The twins were standing off to the side, trying to figure out what was going on, and Ginny was standing in the doorway, albeit a bit out of breath from running down and up the stairs. Harry's gaze returned to Mrs. Weasley, and when he looked down, he realized that she was holding both of his wrists gently, yet firmly in place so that he couldn't move them anymore or cause himself any further harm.

"What are you doing, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice strangely calm as she looked into his eyes.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry gasped, his heart pounding in terror as he continued to clutch the shattered pieces of glass tightly in the palms of his hands. This had to be better, however, than the harsh punishment she was surely going to deal him in a matter of minutes, he thought.

"Harry, I'm not upset about the dishes," she said, as gently and calmly as he had ever heard anyone speak to him.

The words took a moment to sink in before they registered in Harry's mind.

" _What_?" Harry gasped in disbelief. What did she mean, she wasn't upset about the dishes? Why wouldn't she be upset? He had just ruined several of her valuable possessions… something she and her family had worked very hard for to buy… at least, that was something that his aunt and uncle had drilled into Harry's head from his time of living with them. His behavior had consequences, and now he needed to be punished by this woman for his carelessness. He deserved to be punished.

"Harry, it's okay. It's just two plates, two glasses, and two bowls. I have dozens more," she said soothingly, her gaze never straying from his eyes.

"But-" Harry said, confused. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. He'd never been talked to like this before… ever.

"It's _okay_ ," she repeated, firmly yet sweetly. She smiled reassuringly at him. "It was an accident, dear. It happens all the time around here, right children?"

"Yes, it does," Ron replied promptly, nodding in reassurance.

"Fred and George are always breaking things," Ginny added simply from the doorway. "Right, guys?"

"Oh, er, yeah," Fred and George muttered, catching on. "We blow up- er- break things around here all the time."

"Really?" Harry asked breathlessly, hopeful that maybe all wasn't lost after all.

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Weasley answered kindheartedly, tenderly squeezing Harry's wrists in reassurance. "Trust me, I'm used to it."

"Are you sure, Mrs. Wealsey?" Harry asked uncertainly, studying her face for any signs of regret or disappointment.

"Yes, dear, I'm positive," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling in good spirits. "I'm really not worried about it at all. Now, let's get you cleaned up."

"But-" Harry started, but he couldn't finished. He was truly at a loss for words.

"Yes, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, waiting unwearyingly for his response.

"What about the mess?" Harry asked, completely dumbfounded by her words. Wasn't she going to make him at least clean up his mess first? "I'm not done cleaning it up yet… don't you want me to clean it up first?"

"I'll finish cleaning it up later, dear. Right now, I'm more worried about you," Mrs. Weasley answered.

"'Me?'" Harry repeated perplexedly. "You're worried about me? _Why_?"

"Look at your hands, Harry," she said, gently turning them over and slowly prying them open. Harry obeyed and spread his fingers open, cringing at the pain from doing so. A few pieces of glass fell to the floor, but for the most part, nearly everything that Harry had picked up was now deeply embedded in his hands. "Let's get you all fixed up."

For the next thirty minutes, Harry sat up straight on the edge of his bed, with his hands obediently held out in front of him as Mrs. Weasley gently removed dozens of pieces of broken glass from his hands. The entire process stung and hurt, _a lot_ , but Harry simply bit his lip and clenched his teeth as she used tweezers to remove the broken shards. Harry was thankful when the twins and Ginny left the room, as he hated all of the attention he was receiving, but Ron stood in the doorway the entire time, watching the scene unfold somberly and leaving only to retrieve the necessary medical supplies for Mrs. Weasley. When Mrs. Weasley was all done removing the glass from Harry's hands, she soaked his hands in a bowl of what she called healing solution for several minutes. She then covered his hands in a healing salve before tenderly wrapping his hands in fresh clean bandages. Of course, the only reason why Harry was letting her do any of this was because he was just thankful she wasn't punishing him for his reckless behavior… yet.

Harry studied Mrs. Weasley very carefully the entire time, waiting for a flicker of disappointment or anger to flash across her face, but thus, none came. Instead, she seemed genuinely concerned for Harry's well-being. She cringed and gasped each time she removed a particularly long piece of glass deeply embedded in his hand that she knew was going to be painful for Harry, and she was very careful not to cause him any further injury. Harry was impressed, awed, and absolutely confused by her unwarranted display of kindness and generosity towards him. He didn't deserve any of it.

"How does that feel?" Mrs. Weasley asked softly when she was done wrapping his hands heavily in the white bandages.

"It feels wonderful. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry mumbled bashfully, continuing to look up at her in appreciation. The woman smiled at Harry in reassurance once more, rose to her feet, and walked over to the dresser. She opened up the top drawer and pulled out a new pair of pajamas.

"Here you go, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, laying the pajamas down on Harry's bed. "Why don't you change into these?"

Harry nodded, mumbling a small "thanks" in gratitude. He grabbed the pajamas and watched as Mrs. Weasley made for the door. Harry frowned in confusion.

"Wait," Ron muttered, stopping his mother upon reaching the doorway. Ron had noticed Harry's reaction, and he gestured to her to look back at Harry.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked upon seeing the concerned look on his face.

"Aren't… aren't you going to punish me?" Harry asked hesitantly, peering at Mrs. Weasley intently for any recognizable sign that she was angry with him.

This time, Mrs. Weasley was the one who frowned in confusion.

"Punish you? Why would I punish you?" she asked, seemingly caught off guard by Harry's simple question.

"Because I broke your dishes," Harry answered simply.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley scoffed at last. "They're just _dishes._ They're _things_. _They_ can be replaced. _You_ can't."

 _That's not what Aunt Petunia would say_ , Harry thought to himself, sighing heavily.

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Weasley asked in concern, staring at Harry intensely. "What did you just say?"

Harry gasped as he realized he'd said that last statement out loud. He scrambled to think of something to say, horrified that he had just spoken about his relatives out loud, but he didn't want to be caught in another lie.

"That's not what my aunt would say," Harry whispered, staring down at his bed sheets in utter humiliation.

Mrs. Weasley froze in horror, though since Harry refused to look up at the woman, he mistook her silence as anger towards him.

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry added shamefully. "I should have been more careful."

Mrs. Weasley sighed. Was she frustrated with him? Was she mad at him after all? If she was, her face didn't show it. She walked back over to Harry's bed and swiftly leaned down to get eye level with him once again.

"Harry James Potter, I already told you, I'm not worried about the dishes," she said, slowly yet resolutely. She patted his arm reassuringly. For once, Harry didn't even flinch.

"I know, but…" Harry couldn't finish his thought. He continued to stare at Mrs. Weasley. Surely she was mistaken… right? He deserved to be punished… that much was obvious. But how would she do it? Would she wait until he went to bed to get her revenge? Or, would she seek out her husband to deal out the punishment? Harry didn't know what to think. Quite honestly, he was terrified to find out.

"What is it, dear?" Mrs. Weasley urged, noticing the uneasy look in Harry's eyes.

Harry pursed his lips, unsure of what to say next. Should he be honest with the woman? Should he tell her what he was thinking?

"Never mind," Harry whispered, looking down at his blankets.

This time before leaving the room, Mrs. Weasley helped Harry change into his new pajamas. He was a bit embarrassed by help, but he had admit to himself that it would have taken him ages to successfully do it by himself. She fluffed Harry's pillows and helped Harry settle into his bed, gently pulling the covers over him. When she left the room, Harry let out a huge sigh of relief. He was lucky… for now. He knew when she returned, however, he'd surely be in trouble.

"Are you okay, mate?" Ron asked once more, looking at Harry uncertainly as he moved from his spot in the doorway.

Harry nodded slowly. His stomach rumbled angrily once more, which reminded him of how hungry and thirsty he was in the first place. After all that trouble, he hadn't even gotten a little sip of water. Harry groaned in desperation. He wasn't sure how much longer he could handle the hunger and thirst, even though in the back of his mind he knew from personal experience he could go weeks, even months, without eating or drinking.

Harry rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. He didn't feel like talking anymore, and desperately hoped Ron would get the hint. After everything that'd happened, he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep. He closed his eyes and was just about to doze off when Mrs. Weasley returned unexpectedly five minutes later, carrying a large tray of food and drinks.

"There you go," she said, smiling reassuringly as she set the lunch tray down on Harry's bed. Harry rubbed his tired eyes and slowly sat up again, confused at what was happening. "I brought enough soup and bread for the both of you to eat in case you're hungry and some drinks in case you're thirsty. You can pick out which dishes are yours, Harry. Ron will take whatever you don't want."

Harry gasped at the kind gesture. His gaze immediately flickered towards Ron, gauging his reaction, but Ron simply smiled reassuringly back and gestured for Harry to go ahead. Harry pointed out which dishes he wanted, and Mrs. Weasley settled them on his tray. She pulled a straw from her apron and dropped it in Harry's drink, before lifting the glass up to Harry.

"Are you still thirsty?" she asked, albeit cautiously.

Harry paused. The same question that he had agonized over two nights before rang through his ears. Could he trust her? Maybe he could try… she'd been nothing but nice to him, after all.

Ever so slowly, he nodded.

Harry, slightly embarrassed that she had to hold the glass for him, took his first sip of water in days. It was so delicious and refreshing that he drank the entire glass within seconds.

"Woah, Harry, slow down," Mrs. Weasley laughed as she set the empty glass back down on his tray. "You'll want to pace yourself dear so that you don't make yourself sick. Why don't you try a small bite to eat?"

Mrs. Weasley stayed by his side as he shakily picked up the piece of bread, tore off a tiny piece, and put it in his mouth. The bread was so fresh and tasty. It was the most amazing piece of bread he had ever tasted in his entire life. He was only able to take two bites before his stomach began protesting. The full glass of water and the two bites of bread had caused him to now feel a bit queasy.

"Are you full, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked worriedly as Harry clenched his aching stomach.

Harry nodded, uncertain of how she would react to him not eating all of the food that was offered to him. Would she hit him over the head with the lunch tray for disrespecting the time and effort she put into making the food, or would she simply slap him for neglecting the untouched bowl of soup?

But she did neither. Instead, she simply removed his lunch tray and wordlessly helped him settle back down under his covers. He couldn't even remember his head hitting the pillows as he fell into a peaceful sleep.

The next time Harry woke up, it was early morning. The sun had yet to rise, and it was pitch black outside. That wasn't what woke him, however. His stomach was rumbling quite loudly. He was hungry. His appetite had returned at full throttle, and he was ravenous. He had been holding out for too long, and he had to find something to eat… _now_.

Harry shoved his glasses on and carefully looked around the room, which was shrouded in darkness. The snores from the other bed across the room signaled that Ron had stayed true to this word and was sleeping in the bed next to his. Harry looked over at the nightstand and frowned in disappointment. Mrs. Weasley had cleared all of the food away, leaving behind only a glass of water. That wouldn't help him now. He needed food.

Carefully and quietly, he climbed out of bed, tiptoed across the room, and cautiously opened the door. He poked his head out and looked up and down the darkened hallway. It seemed that everyone in the house was asleep. He put his hand out to balance himself and slowly walked along the wall. It took him nearly thirty minutes to get downstairs, much longer than it should have taken, but he successfully walked down the five flights of stairs. He was absolutely exhausted by the time he reached the last step, and he was utterly dreading the seemingly impossible trek back upstairs.

That is, _if_ he went back upstairs. Once he got something to eat, Harry was seriously considering sneaking out of the house and carrying out his escape plan. Of course, he'd have to see how he felt after he got some food. He barely had any energy left right now, so an escape attempt at this point could prove to be reckless.

He walked towards the darkened kitchen. He felt his way around in the darkness… he felt the cabinets, the refrigerator (that oddly enough wasn't making any noise), the stove, more cabinets… then he found it. The trashcan.

At any other house, the trashcan was like a palace of wasted food… delicious rations of perfectly suitable food that people simply threw away when they couldn't bother eating any more. At this house, however, Harry realized as he sifted through the tall container of rubbish, he couldn't seem to find any evidence of food that was thrown out at all.

 _How odd,_ he thought in puzzlement after several minutes of unsuccessfully digging through the trash. _What do they do with the leftovers when they're done eating?_

He was almost done digging through the trashcan when an unexpected voice startled him from behind. Harry, who nearly had his head buried in the trashcan while sorting through the bottom of the rubbish, froze. Perhaps if he didn't make any sudden movements, they wouldn't see him? It was still dark in the kitchen, after all….

"Harry!" a woman's voice cried in astonishment.

Harry jumped nearly a mile high and fell backwards into the kitchen table with a loud crash, knocking the trashcan over and spilling its contents all over the floor. A light overhead flickered on, and Mrs. Weasley's baffled face came into view. She was standing at the foot of the stairs in her housecoat. He must have woken her up somehow.

"Harry!" she shrieked again, shock written all over her face as she stared at the unusual scene taking place right before her eyes. Harry, who'd landed on his back on the floor, immediately sat up in alarm.

"Molly, is something wrong?" Mr. Weasley's voice hollered down the staircase, accompanied by hurried footsteps. Harry inwardly groaned as his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. This was turning into his worst case scenario after all.

"What is this? Harry, what's going on?" Mr. Weasley asked as he entered the kitchen right behind his wife, the expression on his face mirroring that of Mrs. Weasley's.

"I… er…" Harry tried to explain, but there were no words. What was he supposed to say? Would they even believe him? He realized he was still holding a piece of trash in his right hand and quickly dropped it.

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley repeated patiently.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, staring at his knees in shame at being caught.

"Sorry?" Mrs. Weasley asked in surprise, taken aback by Harry's words. "My dear, what on earth are you sorry for this time?"

"Uh…" Harry began, gulping in trepidation as he tried to figure out what to say.

"Son?" Mr. Weasley pressed firmly, yet gently.

"I'm sorry for digging through your trash, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. I… I c-couldn't help it…" Harry stammered in humiliation, staring at the floor in shame.

"You couldn't help it? What are you talking about, dear?" Mrs. Weasley replied, perplexed.

Harry didn't know what to say. How could he explain himself?

"Harry, _why_ were you digging through the trash?" Mr. Weasley asked slowly.

"I-I was hungry," Harry whispered, looking up at Mrs. Weasley worriedly. He hoped she wouldn't be mad at him.

"You… you were _hungry_?" Mrs. Weasley gasped in bewilderment, her mouth gaped open in confusion.

"I-I d-didn't w-want to s-steal any of your food, so… I f-figured I'd look through the trash instead. I-I thought you w-wouldn't m-miss it if I took food from the trashcan. I-I'm sorry," Harry stuttered shamefully.

"Oh, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley cried, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. She rushed over, her hands held out wide, as she kneeled down and pulled Harry into a tight embrace. Harry violently flinched and instantly stiffened at the unfamiliar gesture, but Mrs. Weasley didn't let go for several seconds. When she pulled back, she had tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry frowned in confusion. What had he done this time to upset her?

"Don't you _ever_ dig through our trash again, young man," she said sternly, though she didn't seem angry with him, which baffled Harry all the more.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry muttered apologetically, his eyes staring at the floor once more in shame. He'd surely be punished now. Harry cringed at the thought of what the punishment would be. He was in the kitchen, after all… where there were plenty of options to torture him with…. Harry shook his head as horrifying memories threatened to overcome him once again. He couldn't deal with those right now. "I'm sorry."

"If you're ever hungry again," Mrs. Weasley continued on, patting him gently on the shoulders. "I want you to wake one of us up, or have one of the children wake us up, or just come downstairs and get it yourself."

"Wait… what?" Harry asked uncertainly, glancing at Mrs. Weasley to make sure he wasn't misunderstanding her. Now he was the one who was confused.

"Harry, you don't have to dig through the trashcan just to get food around here," Mr. Weasley said decisively. "Our food is your food. You are welcome to everything here."

" _Everything,"_ Mrs. Weasley emphasized determinedly. " _Anytime_."

Harry frowned in bewilderment. Why would these people do something so… nice? Harry was practically a complete stranger, yet they were offering up their food to him… for free? It didn't make any sense… it was extremely un-Dursley-like.

"Well, since we're here, why don't I just make something delicious for all of us to eat?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"I think a pre-breakfast snack sounds wonderful, Molly," Mr. Weasley answered, grinning and pecking his wife affectionately on the lips. Mrs. Weasley immediately turned on her feet, setting off to prepare some type of meal for the three of them to eat. Mr. Weasley turned to Harry. "Why don't you have a seat, Harry, while I clean this mess up?"

"Are you sure, sir?" Harry asked hesitantly. "I can clean it up for you… it was my fault, after all…."

"No worries, son," Mr. Weasley said resolutely, picking up the trashcan. The tone in his voice meant the man left no room for Harry to argue. "Just have a seat, Harry."

Without thinking, Harry instinctively scooted away to the far corner of the kitchen, assuming he was following Mr. Weasley's instructions. But Mr. Weasley, however, frowned in confusion when he saw what Harry had done.

"Harry, is something wrong?" Mr. Weasley asked tentatively, frozen in place while still holding the empty trashcan in his hands.

"No, sir," Harry replied nervously.

"Then why did you move to the corner of the room?" Mr. Weasley clarified, setting the empty trashcan back down. Mrs. Weasley stopped looking through the kitchen cabinets and froze in place, watching the scene play out before her eyes.

Harry gasped, realizing he'd done something wrong yet again. Why did he always mess up?

"I-I'm s-sorry, sir," Harry began timidly, trembling in fear once again. "I… I thought you wanted me to sit over here. Is… is there someplace you would like me to sit… that would be better?"

"Well, yes, obviously," Mr. Weasley stated, though he seemed to be at such a loss of words that he couldn't manage to finish his sentence.

"Harry, please, come have a seat at the kitchen table," Mrs. Weasley spoke up kindly, gesturing towards an empty chair.

"What?" Harry asked, taken aback by the absurdity of the instruction. He had never, in he entire life, sat at a kitchen table before. The Dursleys had strictly forbidden it, forcing Harry to eat his pathetic meals on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.

"Son, in this house, everyone eats at the kitchen table," Mr. Weasley stated compassionately, regaining his composure.

"Are you sure, sir?" Harry asked uncertainly, still in disbelief at the odd request. "I don't want to get it dirty-"

"Yes, Harry," Mr. Weasley replied, nodding his head in reassurance. "I am certain. In fact, it would make both Molly and I feel better if you sat at the kitchen table with us. Here, let me help you."

Mr. Weasley slowly walked over, gently pulled Harry to his feet, and guided him to the kitchen table. Mrs. Weasley pulled a chair out for Harry to sit in and helped Mr. Weasley lower Harry into it.

 _Freaks aren't allowed to sit at the kitchen table,_ his aunt's voice rang through his ears. _You might contaminate the food with the filthiness that's inside you._ Harry shivered at the cold reminder, but was thankful the Weaslelys didn't seem to notice his reaction.

Harry watched as Mr. Weasley picked up all of the trash off the kitchen floor, while Mrs. Weasley walked around the kitchen, opening cabinets and retrieving items from them. All the while, he sat in astonishment, thinking about what was happening to him. Mr. Weasley was cleaning up the mess that _he_ had made… Mrs. Weasley was making food in the middle of the night because _he_ was hungry… and now he was _sitting_ at the kitchen table because the adults insisted on it… all of it felt extremely odd and slightly awkward, but Harry was more than willing to comply with the Weasleys' demands as long as it meant keeping them content and happy for the time being. He didn't want to upset them anymore than he already had.

"What would you like to eat, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked excitedly from her position at the kitchen sink.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, taken aback by the unusual question.

"You obviously came down here because you're hungry, dear, so what can I make you to eat?" she rephrased.

"May I have a piece of bread, please, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry requested, hoping it wasn't too much to ask of her.

"And what else?, dear" she asked kindly.

"Just a piece of bread will be fine, Mrs. Weasley," Harry muttered awkwardly, staring down at the kitchen table one again. He didn't want to have to bother her or have her go out of her way to make him something to eat in the middle of the night. "Thank you, ma'am."

"It is most certainly not!" Mrs. Weasley immediately cried out, the look on her face one of shock and disgust.

"Pardon me?" Harry whispered worriedly. What had he said that upset her this time? He didn't understand. Was she mad at him?

"Harry, you have to eat something other than a piece of bread," she said, regaining her composure. Her tone was much softer than before.

"Why?" Harry asked blankly.

"Because it's not healthy," she replied.

 _The Dursleys never thought so_ , Harry thought darkly.

"What else would you like to eat with it?" she pressed on.

"Really, Mrs. Weasley, I don't want to trouble you…" Harry said uncertainly.

"Harry, dear, this is what I do for a living. I am a mother to seven wonderful children. I spend my days making sure my children's needs are met, and I absolutely enjoy every single minute of it. Making you something to eat in the middle of the night is no problem at all. _It's what I do._ You will only be bothering me if you don't start eating something soon, dear. Madam Pomfrey is already reconsidering her decision to keep you here. After what happened the other night, I think she's worried we can't take care of you properly. And unfortunately, if you don't start eating soon, you're going to prove her right."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry mumbled, bowing his head in shame.

Harry heard the sound of footsteps approaching him, but he kept staring at the kitchen table uncomfortably. Gently fingers reached out and touched underneath his chin, slowly tilting his chin upwards so that he was forced to look up. Mrs. Weasley successfully caught his attention.

"Don't be sorry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling reassuringly. Harry couldn't help but be in awe of how nice she was being to him. "Now, what else would you like to eat?"

"May I have some cheese, please?" Harry asked timidly. Harry glanced back down at the kitchen table, so he missed Mrs. Weasley's exasperated look of indignation, but he did see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchange expressive glances, so Mrs. Weasley dropped the conversation and continued preparing Harry something to eat.

Fifteen minutes later, Mrs. Weasley sat a bowl of chicken broth down in front of him, along with a plate of freshly baked bread and a few slices of cheese. Harry instinctively reached for the bread and began tearing tiny pieces off, slowly nibbling on them one piece at a time. He was uncomfortably aware that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were watching him very closely. Were they afraid that he'd do something? After three bites, Harry couldn't eat anymore.

"Are you full already, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked carefully.

Harry frowned, disappointed that for the second time in a row, he couldn't finish his meal. Surely she'd force it down his throat this time? His aunt had done that to him once before when she had caught him sneaking some bites of dinner before a meal. Harry shivered at the recollection.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry whispered regretfully. "I'm sorry for wasting it."

"Don't worry, dear. It's perfectly fine. Madam Pomfrey said it could take several weeks, even months, to get your appetite back to normal. You'll have to work back up to it, I suppose," Mrs. Weasley said reassuringly, removing Harry's untouched food. "You look exhausted, Harry. Why don't you go on back up to bed? I daresay you need your rest."

Harry stared at her in bafflement.

"Yes, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked patiently as she placed the dishes in the sink. She had obviously seen the confused look on his face.

"Aren't… aren't you mad?" he asked nervously.

"Mad? Why would I be mad?" she replied, confounded. She looked up at him in bewilderment.

"Because I didn't eat all of my food…" Harry trailed off anxiously.

"Why would I be mad at you for that?" she asked patiently.

Harry paused, trying to figure out what to say. His aunt's screams filled his ears.

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley prodded once more.

"Because you spent your hard-earned money to buy the food, and you worked hard to make it, and I didn't eat it, so…." Harry started, but Mr. Weasley cut him off.

"But you tried, dear, and that's all that matters to me. _It's a start_ ," Mrs. Weasley answered, giving in a reassuring smile.

There was an awkward silence, as Harry tried to figure out if she was being honest with him or not.

"Harry, there's nothing you can do that would make us mad at you," Mr. Weasley explained calmly.

 _I doubt that,_ Harry thought darkly. _You'll change your mind when you realize how much of a freak I really am._

Now feeling extremely full, Harry severely struggled walking back up the stairs by himself. He was so sleepy that his eyelids wouldn't stay open. He had to grab onto the railing with all his might to keep himself from falling asleep right then and there on the steps. After a few minutes of struggling on his own, he barely noticed Mr. Weasley half-carry, half-drag him up to his room the rest of the way. Before he knew it, he was lying down in his bed again, with Mr. Weasley pulling the covers over him. Sleep welcomed him instantaneously.

 **A/N: And there we go. Another chapter down.**

 **I am so very sorry for taking so long to post this chapter! I really thought I had finished writing it until I started making some simple changes here and there… and before I knew it, I had completely destroyed the chapter. I hope you liked it!**


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